#finan fic

[honey-im-hotdog]

Pretty Boy

Finan x Reader x Sihtric

Author’s Note: Hi! This is my very first time writing for The Last Kingdom, so please cut me some slack if the characters are a bit ooc. There simply is not enough poly stuff for these two in my humble opinion. I need to be between them both so bad. Okay, please enjoy!

As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.

Words: 0.4k — a quick one since I just wanted to get it out :)

Warnings: fluff; pet names (love, pretty boy); kissing; reader is said to have hair with braids but no description of length or color, etc; cheesy as fuck.

Summary: A cute moment spent within Sihtric and Finan's arms.

Check out my other stuff :)

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“What are you thinking about?” Thick with sleep, Finan’s voice is a warm blanket.

Your head tilts to the side as you brush a leaf down his face, smiling softly as his eyes close in bliss.

“Hmm,” you hum as his eyes open and pin you with his stare, “just that you are too pretty to be real.”

His eyes widen, “‘Pretty?!’” he says in mock offense. “I am ‘pretty’ to you? That’s all?! I am a fearsome warrior, I’ll have you know!” His hands fly about as he exaggerates his words.

You can’t help but giggle at his grumbling, feeling your chest warm as he shakes his head side to side in your lap. Your fingers are quick to find the short braids Sihtric wove into the Irishman’s dark hair, the metal beads matching the ones in your and the Dane’s hair.

“Fine, fine! You aren’t pretty.”

As if it were possible, the man grows even more bewildered when you leave your sentence at that. “Excuse me!” His accent thicker than ever.

The laughter bubbles out of you, “What? You didn’t wanna be pretty!”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to come up with a response.

You feel the vibrations of Sihtric’s laughter against your back before you hear it. His arms squeezing you just a little tighter. “Keep tormenting him, my love. Misery looks good on him,” his words are said into your shoulder, eyes also peering down at Finan. The smile clear as day in his voice.

“You fucking heathen, you!” Finan sits up in faux rage, but you’re quick to grab his arm and pull him into your chest; smothering his face in light kisses in between your quiet laughter.

“You are the bravest, scariest, toughest, handsomest warrior to have ever walked Wessex. And I am in awe everyday to call you mine.”

The Irishman cups the crown of your head to pull you into a soft kiss. The both of you smiling through it.

You feel Sihtric nuzzle his nose into your neck after a while, “And what about me?”

You and Finan pull away from each other with a laugh.

“You, my friend, are an oaf.”

“Finan!”

He just laughs at your gentle smack against his bicep.

You rest your head back on Sihtric’s shoulder, the hand not holding onto Finan reaching up into his hair. “You are the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most fearsome,” you lightly pinch Finan as he starts to protest, “warrior, Sihtric. My pretty boy.”

He kisses the spot just below your ear, mumbling his thanks and returning your praise tenfold.

Finan tilts his head back, humming in disapproval. “You got that last bit wrong, love,” it’s Sihtric’s turn to be pulled down, “he’s our pretty boy.” Sihtric moans the second their lips connect.

The embrace between the three of you tightens as you get lost within kisses and caresses for the rest of the night.

[ms-oswald]

homesick | chapter one

author's note: and here we go with a new Finan series! A tad long, but hopefully still an enjoyable read :) a BIG thank you to @persephones-journey for helping me through this! ❤️ banner credit to @arcielee 💜 Lots of love & stay safe 💕

     “I will be forever the man who killed the great warrior Uhtred.” 

That was how their story started.  

The ground quivered underneath heavy hooves, horses running on adrenaline as their riders intercepted the illicit briberies by the shore, the beach’s cold waves straddling the sand within its grasp. 

Restlessness tightened the throats of the warriors, its claws urging movements of rescue. 

The slavers scattered away, fear shadowing their hastened steps with the hefty trample of the cavalry and unsheathed swords harmonizing behind their backs. 

The captives were nonmoving, confused as they watched the violent spectacle unfold in front of them. A mix of screams and the whistling of weapons ripping through flesh ached their ears, the gasps of breath and strangled voices caused shivers as they watched bodies falling over their pushed-in blades. 

She climbed off her horse as Ragnar called for his brother, his feet following the path towards the sunken man.  

She stayed behind, standing by Steapa’s side – a man of Alfred’s – and watched as she saw her friend cradling his younger kin softly sobbing in his arms.  

“Did you believe we would abandon you?” A soft smile etched across his lips, his shoulders heavy at the sight. He was partly relieved to have found his brother while the other was distraught at how he came to be. 

No response came from Uhtred, the air filled still with soft strained cries.  

Ragnar lifted his head to meet another slave standing a couple of feet away and glanced down the line to his right, taking in the presence of the others. 

“Free them all.” He ordered, somber, his mind racing and angry.  

She followed his command and marched forward, going for the chains before breaking them at each of the captives’ ankles. She set them free one by one until she reached the last; by then he had undone it himself, and quietly picked up the sword that laid at his feet.  

She stilled and let him be, curiosity prickling her skin as her eyes shadowed his movements.  

He stumbled hastily towards the remaining villain trying to escape for his life, his venture destroyed.  

She watched as the poorer man pointed the tip of his blade at his slaver, the cause of his infernal calamity.  

Sverri turned slowly, now face to face with his demise.  

The sudden shove of the blade through the throat startled her; she froze, unable to look away as death violently greeted the enemy, the body falling on the ground. 

His eyes glistened as relief washed over the liberated, the soft panting bruising his chest while he turned to his right, meeting Uhtred’s gaze.  

No words were exchanged, only a delirious grin stretched across the other man’s dirty cheeks, a long gaze holding them together.  

She sighed and turned her head as Ragnar called for her. “Care for him.” She sent a firm nod his way and placed her sword back in its scabbard before shifting the other way and carefully approaching the newly freed man. 

He hadn’t noticed her, still trapped in a thick fog, a void that seemed unescapable. 

It was the sudden crackle of a fallen branch that awoke him, startling him. He focused his sight on the figure walking towards him and quickly lifted the sword at her. 

She stopped, her hands in mid-air as her sign of surrender.  

“I am not here to hurt you, I promise.” Her tone was soft, almost coaxing him to let go of his defense. 

He stared back, dazed, and fell to the ground with a quiet breath out. 

She drew near him and took a seat on her knees as her hands rested on his jawline, carefully tilting his head to see if he had any other bruises. She took note of the roughness of his skin and the older marks covering him. 

“Do you have any fresh wounds that need tending to?” She was gentle with her words as she let him go, her fingers resting on her lap. 

He shook his head, signaling a simple ‘no’. 

“What is your name?” 

The moment of silence settled between them, his eyes focusing on her with reality dragging him by the collar of his shirt. He took in the hint of worry, her gaze giving him attention that had gone missing in the recent years of his life.  

“Finan.” His name left him, a last breath across his broken lips.  

A faint twinge ran through her heart, leaving her aching. She hid it with a careful smile, introducing herself to him in return. 

“I am Kára.”  

Her name rung in his ears with his eyes taking in her features and retracing the way her darken hair was intricately braided into rows by the sides of her head and tied at the back, its texture looking soft – a sinful invitation to touch and caress the strands. To the way the tiniest of knife mark scarred the skin under the edge of her right eyebrow, a thin red line still looking fresh. He then glanced downwards, falling into steps with the harmonized colors hugging her pupils – the warmth of honey at the center, its sun bursting through the ripples of old oak trees sprinkled with flecks of moss at its roots. Such complexity in their design were cast his way, unconsciously enchanting him.  

It took him a moment, but he continued his path, glancing to the fresh bruise on the right side of her jawline to the pink of her high cheekbones, a dimple nestled comfortably from the upward curve of her full lips. 

He stared, unable to part from her – as if the delusion stripped him of his senses. An unexpected presence, he breathed her in slowly, her delicate endeavor weakening his muscles to a state of release and comfort. 

A stranger had become his rescuer, aiding in his conquest to freedom and wiping clean his bloodied hands. 

“Can you get up for me, Finan?” Once more, the symphony of his name coddled his ears. It was the cautious way she held his letters, a wounded animal – anxious and afraid. 

He did not utter a word. He simply followed her movements as she placed his arm around her shoulders, helping him rejoin the others while slowly realizing that his worst nightmare was finally over. 

     The warmth of the campfire surrounded them, the air tranquil as they took comfort in the food filling some of their bellies and the gentle sound of the crackling flames tickling their ears. 

A bowl in her hands, she quietly listened to the conversation unraveling in front of her, occasionally glancing up to follow the sound of voices. Her gaze eventually landed on Finan, the man sitting on the ground to her right, and took in the way his throat seemed to have softened, his chords clearer than earlier today; she noted as well the thickness of his accent rumbling at the back of his palette, bringing a light strain to her heart at the thought of her past. 

“You’re... Uhtred’s brother?” 

Sitting on the other side of the Irishman, Ragnar turned to him as he spoke. “I am.” 

A sly smirk across his face, his eyes glanced from one to the other as he continued. “You look nothing like each other.”  

The group shared a small chuckle, Ragnar smiling at the man’s comment; Kára hid her grin as she cast her gaze down her bowl. 

“Uhtred, you should eat.” Hild took her turn, offering him a plate. Instead, he faintly shook his head, denying the gesture. She then turned to Finan. 

He politely refused as well.  

“Oh, we will eat, lady... but our tummies are small and our feet have barely touched dry land. It’ll take a little time to find them.” He gently spoke, his reasoning prompting her to simply nod as she placed the dish on the ground. 

Ragnar picked up the conversation, his inquiry directed towards Uhtred’s apparent new friend. “Are you his brother?” 

The answer came in slowly, his thoughts ravishing his tongue with revelations.  

“We are... we are bound, I would say.” Uhtred eyed him, clear emotions striking the blue of his eyes. 

Kára observed him, noting the depth of his words as they silenced their circle.  

She remained wordless, a simple spectator as her eyes wandered with her mind traipsing amongst hundreds of thoughts.   

She hadn’t noticed he turned to look at her until he called for her by simply tilting his head her way, his voice a tad louder as it echoed in her direction. 

“What is ya story?”  

She met his gaze, the darkness of his hues glowing against the gentle flames that danced in front of them. 

She smiled at his question, the stretch of her lips dimpling her left cheek. “I do not have one. I am merely a loyal warrior of Ragnar.”  

At the mention of his name, they met and lingered as they shared the smallest and comforting of grins for one another; such an expression had gone unnoticed to the Irishman as he turned to speak to Uhtred, a cheekiness laced in his pitch. 

“Ah, so she is not one of yours then, Uhtred?” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she fell back into her conversation with him. She teased, her demeanor slightly exaggerated for the laughs. “Luckily, I am not.” 

She earned a chuckle from him, the rest of the group falling into the background.  

Ragnar had dropped his gaze, his laughter calming, before lifting his head back up. “Kára has been- is, one of my closest and trusted friend.” He turned to her once again, an understanding passing between them – ships in the night. 

The air settling down, she went on, taking away the chance for Finan to prod a bit more; she had preferred to keep parts of her past private – the peering gaze of a stranger throwing her off as attention was never her strong suit.  

“Him and I have known each other for a very long time. We share some... common history.” She took a sip of her ale, swallowing before ending her take. “That is all I will say, Irishman.” 

She gifted him a smirk, and swung her cup for another chug of her drink.  

He let it be, their night continuing with timid conversation flowing around the fire until it had slowly dissipated, its need for sleep growing stronger as the flames slowed. 

“I apologize.” He took a leap, standing close to her as she was reaching her tent. “I did not mean to be rude earlier.” 

She smiled reassuringly, calming his worry. “I did not see rudeness in your questions.”  

“I just wanted to get to know the woman who saved me.” She was left speechless for a moment, taken aback by his words. Her dimples carved further while nodding, his confession settled. “Hmm, another time, perhaps.”  

He caught her grin, his own pushing for a soft stretch as he watched her; perhaps such small promise had rose the sparkle in his eyes.  

“Goodnight, Finan.”  

A light tug strung within his ribcage to such a short song, her voice spelling out his name with hidden mischief; he cleared his throat, recovering from the sudden summersault. 

 A shudder of courage coursed through him, giving himself the chance to unravel a built-in moment. 

“Goodnight, Kára.” 

To the first time he said her name out loud, any reason for solemnity had crumbled at their feet. Her ears tickled, oddly enjoying the way he pronounced her syllables, the lilt across his tongue sweet and gentle. 

     They tore themselves away from the small crowd, as she had promised him, finding a secluded spot where she could clean his wounds.  

He had been hesitant at first, ashamed to bare himself in front of anyone’s eyes. 

It had been the kindness in her words that made him leaned towards agreement; he was still capable of tolerating the wear out of his dry skin and the ache on his back, hiding the desperate need for a cleanse.  

The sun sat warmly at the horizon, flickering its strokes of orange glow upon the high grass and wild flowers that surrounded them. 

Finan sat facing the sun, his back bare to her; her heart stopped and pulled back her breath, clutching at the rag in her hand, while her eyes retraced every whipped mark that bore deep across his skin – fresh and old. 

She stared silently, tears nestling the corners of her eyes.  

He held onto his shirt against his chest – or whatever was left of it – his eyes following the path of the skyline, attempting enjoyment of its warmth as it sought his presence. 

Kára swallowed a breath as she wet the piece of cloth and gently pressed it against him, starting from his shoulders. 

There was a comforting stillness between them, a voiceless exchange that remained transparent in gestures; the sting of the newer lacerations transferred to tension in his muscles – she would stop, giving him a moment to adjust to the numbness as it carved his back. 

“I brought some ointment to heal with the, hmm- with the cuts. Would it be alright if I use it on you?” She asked gently, her tone soft, sowed within the calmness of their space. He tilted his head to his right, his chin to his shoulder as he nodded wordlessly.  

She swabbed some of the thick salve against her fingertips and gently pressed them across the fresher lashes; her movements were slow, giving him the chance to adjust to the texture rubbing against his skin. 

He closed his eyes, the warmth of her palm moving alongside the bruised bones and torn muscles, a shadow cast from the path of his spine; she felt the tension vanish amongst his shoulders letting a pained smile grace the corner of her lips as she continued with her repetitive motion, dipping into the oil before brushing it against his cuts. 

He focused back into the setting sun, the touch of her hands gone. 

He turned his head and saw she had gotten up, walking around to find a seat in front of him. 

Voiceless still, he watched her as she placed the small bucket of water by her side, the rag making another appearance. 

The light’s glow was striking her adoringly, brightening the hazel of her eyes, as a soft golden glare cherished her pupils while sitting on her knees. She gifted him a passing faint smile as they met, pushing her hair behind her left ear before dipping the cloth into the water.  

She leaned towards him, a curved finger under his chin to lead his tilts, and tenderly cleaned the scabs scarring his features.  

She had been focused on caution, wanting to minimize the sting he would feel; she had not realized he had been staring, observing her with an undefined awe underlined within his hues. 

They had known each other but a few days – words were scarce, glances curious, contact but a feather. But she could still see, examine, his presence, her mind wondering about the stories that tore him down, bruised his skin, shattered his bones and burned his clothes. The pieces of his past life woven into the strands of his dirty hair, anecdotes shaping his rough beard; the depth of his irises – an acute deception painted brown, were a strain of the earth within its streams, a river crying in silence. 

It was all she could capture, stubborn cracks that remained shut, the surface threatened for rupture but never caving in. 

A soft breeze had cross through them, stiffness holding his breath. 

She stopped, pulling away. “Is something wrong?”  

He met the frown sitting across her brows, the worry shadowed behind her stare. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a breath as he shook his head and tightened his grip onto the muddied shirt stuck to his bare chest. 

“N-no.” 

Her hands fell upon her lap, the wet cloth limp as her head slightly tilted sideways. “Finan, you look pale- are you feeling ill?” 

“Just nauseous.” He struggled to say. His lungs depleted once again, his breath carrying him on. “The smell of the seas… it haunts me.” 

It had been the second faint breeze that made her realize the heaviness of his words; she glanced downwards, a saddened lip curve straining her cheek as she pushed her hair to rest behind her shoulders, regretting having undone her braids. 

She was born with the sea carved into the marrow of her bones, its waves but a welcome embrace, its air – a comfort to her lungs, her skin forever finding treasure amongst the saltiness of the waters. Her darken locks, shadows to the wind, a disciple honoring a god at its altar. 

“I-I am almost done.” 

He tried to apologize, the attempt at the tip of his tongue.  

She could only timidly smile, noticing the way his mouth had moved. 

She stopped him, pushing herself to sit straight, with nothing but softness – understanding, at the edge of her words. “But if you wish, I can ask Hild to finish-” 

He quickly interjected, guilt-ridden. 

“No, it’s alright. Please, st-stay.” 

“Are you certain? I don’t want-” 

He grabbed her wrists, purposely interrupting her, eyes locked. “Aye. Please.” 

The sliver of despair shaped the sunken figure in front of her. 

She quietly breathed in, the ache in her chest seeping into the air in her lungs. 

She then nodded, settling back as the rag swam back into the bucket, refreshed for its task. 

Quiet relief hugged him, a child in its mother’s arms as she resumed cleaning his scars, her finger hugging his chin as she brushed his skin in a tender motion. 

Cloth then gone, he silently watched her, his hues following the movements of her arms as she picked up her ointment, her fingertips covered in its texture before she leaned his way again and caressed the traces of dry skin that had comfortably settled over his brows down his cheeks.  

An unfamiliar comfort settled within him, its breath like a gush of wind, a warm breeze welcomed under a summer sun.  

He closed his eyes – a small gesture that came naturally; a way to take in the feel of her touch, to swallow such softness in repair against brute swings. 

To his parched lips, she remained delicate, the gentle tickle across them almost timid.  

“Do not eat the salve, Irishman. I know it might be tempting, but it does not have a taste suited for your stomach.” Gentle humor strung behind her words, her tone inciting light air between them. 

He exhaled a chuckle and met her gaze. He saw a speck of mischief buried in her hazels, the tiniest of spark reaching for him by name. 

Silence settled once again, her fingertips grazing over the edges of his mouth and stray strands of his beard as the thick texture coated his skin. It was a simple gesture, meant for nothing more but to progress healing yet intimacy brewed quietly – discreetly – to her every careful touch caressing him.  

Finan couldn’t help but look at her; she had taken her curious chance as well, glancing every now and then to meet him. He could not shake away the wonder of her, his irises following her features once again, mindfully retracing every inch under his eyelids. 

He needed her in memory, a calming presence to the storm drowning him. 

A steady pulse to his ragged heart. 

It had taken another moment before she broke away from his space, a satisfied sigh slipping through her.  

The salve fresh on him, her eyes quickly fell to his covered chest before looking up at him, her teeth nibbling at the inside of her cheek as she sat back on her heels. 

Shame had tied him down, the shackles ghosts on his ankles. 

She wiped her hands on her trousers and took a breath before she reached for his hand, placing it between hers, ignoring the roughness across his knuckles.  

She caught his attention, his focus placed on the way her mouth shaped her thoughts.  

“There is nothing to be ashamed about, Finan...” She was careful with her words, not wanting to agitate him. 

He listened, waiting. 

“But if you are uncomfortable, I can leave and let you finish by yourself. I can leave the bucket and cloth, and the ointment if you need to apply it to any cuts on your chest and stomach.”  

His left hand gripped tighter onto the shirt that pressed against him, keeping himself hidden away from her. Her heart broke, seeing him slightly pull away from her.  

She eventually let him go and got up, fetching the bag she had brought with her. She turned and sat back down in front of him. “I’ve also brought these if you want to change.” 

He remained mute, attentive to the way she remained on her toes, mindful – prudent. 

Conflict within him had left him speechless, unable to conjure but a simple and hoarse ‘thank you’ her way.  

She lingered, sharing a comforting smile his way before she got up to her feet and walked away.  

He had remained put, only turning his head as he watched her go.  

She was braiding her hair, gathering her locks over her shoulder for the finishing touches. 

His heart sank in slight regret, his feet dipped in its cold waters. 

     Within the next year, uncertainty – shyness, had dissipated into the air.  

Kára had remained in Winchester with Ragnar, waiting for the time to take on Dunholm and finally revenge his father’s death and save his sister. 

Finan’s discomfort slowly broke down into pieces, dust in the ground, finding ease in knowing she would stay. 

He was still growing accustomed to his freedom, searching for routines as he settled in his new home. 

The sense of normalcy wrapped around them, roots crackled through the ground, binding itself to their feet; an intricate dance, it was a quiet pursuit of affection and banter. 

It had been the way she had kept helping him with his wounds, making sure they were healing properly, re-applying her salve whenever it was needed and striking conversation on random topics, his need to solve her mystery – a desire that was burgeoning deep within him.  

She had a flicker of intrigue gnawing at him, the scent of a delicious meal teasing him consistently.  

He wanted more, ached for more of her. 

Her sense of humor was in stride with his own, their banter instinctual with every playful remark naturally bouncing off of each other - a connection that seemed to have always been present, simply awaiting dawn.  

From the timid lingering gazes they started to share, a subtlety hidden under the nights cover where the glow of fire hid their innocent secret - on the nights where men were gathering and drinking, a rowdy bunch causing playful ruckus amongst their space, or the times where settings were quiet and a longing would seep through the air, embers floating about, an ache for a touch squeezing beneath the breastbone.  

To the taunting coquetry bursting under sunlight, its heat setting them ablaze; such as when he would call her out on her flirtatious manners, fumbling the poor blacksmith's apprentice heart with a witty smile and a wink - an attitude he teased he thought was reserved for the likes of him alone. Or the times where Kára would intrude on his attempt to court a barmaid as she would serve them drinks to their table, the words of his friend suffocating under exaggeration and leaving him embarrassed with the women's light laughter.  

To the moment she swept him off his feet, her strength, his cause to stumble and fall as they initiated training, a need for refreshment into the art of combat; their swords clashed until she used her body, catching him off guard, and forced him to the ground. She had quickly followed, her knee pressed against his chest as she hovered above him, the smugness rosing her cheeks.   

He could only chuckle, impressed at the way she had smoothly defeated him. His hands in the air, signaling surrender.  

It was the abrupt physical closeness that threw her off, the adrenaline slipping away as she caught herself staring at him; he stilled, unbothered by the weight of her form while admiring the way the freckles of the green in her eyes seemed to have had a mind of their own, luring him into their dreamscape.  

It was the air in their lungs, pushing through tirelessly until recusing itself from liberation, the violent pull of its body leaving his throat dry, her own parched.  

The past circumstances were of no consequence - it had been but amicable foolery.  

It was the sparkle in his eyes, his parted lips nudging her over the edge, the impromptu need to feel him close suddenly a necessity.   

She had quickly pulled herself away as if nothing of importance transpired, both going on about their day, their weapons in hand, training still.  

It hadn’t meant she never shook away the care and fondness she had been feeling for him, but she knew there was something more and hoped to the gods it was just a reverie. 

“She’s just a friend, Uhtred.” He had repeatedly said, convinced there wouldn’t be anything less than that between them. A part of him was heartbroken, a sliver hopeful there was a possible chance there could be something else – attainable, at the reach of his fingertips.  

It had been the short voyage she had done, visiting her father for a couple of months, that tugged the specks of truth out of the dirt; it was the days spent without her that unsettled him, solitude creeping through the shadows and haunting him until it became a part of him – a habit attached to his hip. 

It was her arrival back in Winchester, her presence back into his life that tore away the desolate atmosphere, his mind slowly forgetting ever being separated from her. 

     The time had come. 

It was the middle of the night when the small army of men traveled alongside the forest path leading to the Dunholm fortress. 

The march was quiet, to each in their own mind as their feet carried the heavy weight of their armor and weapons. 

"This is where we part.” Ragnar had stopped the troops, his hand held up in the air as his gaze landed at the top of a slope. “We will show ourselves only when we know the east door has been opened.” 

Uhtred then met his gaze as he turned to him, listening still.  

“We will attack. Then it is up to you to save us... We will be lambs to slaughter.” Brother to brother, their eyes met, Ragnar almost out of breath.  

“Lord...” Their attention had shifted to Clapa, the gentle giant praying to Uhtred. “May the gods be with you.” 

Beocca quickly intervened, rectifying in his own way the other man’s well-wishes. “Um, God, may God be with him, us.”  

A small smile slipped across Kára’s face as a low chuckle escaped her; she had been standing by Hild and Brida’s side, silently watching the exchange.  

Finan heard her, his eyes shifting to her where his own cheeks intuitively burned from the silent smirk he wore for himself. 

Uhtred threw his own snicker, stepping closer to his brother, his words directed back to Clapa. “You just watch over Ragnar. Hmm?” 

The brothers then joined hands, their grins fading into sober expressions. 

“Good luck, little brother.” 

Uhtred pressed his forehead to Ragnar’s, both looking into each other's eyes, preparing for what was to come. 

“See you all in Dunholm.” 

As they bid their goodbye, Finan quickly marched to find Kára just as she turned to look at him. 

Even in the dark, he could see the hint of worry cast across her hazel gaze. Knowing she would be in the thick of the fight was heavy on his chest; he feared for her, a sentiment he hid from her.  

He silently took her hand in his, their stare never breaking. He brought their hold to his lips, pressed a reassuring kiss to her knuckles and lingered for a moment – short enough, yet had given them the split of a second they needed for encouragement, for a hopeful victory. 

He eventually broke away, letting go of her as he followed his group. She stayed and watched him go until a soft pat on her back from Clapa pushed her forward, walking in line behind Ragnar and Brida. 

The night moved on, a half-moon hanging in the sky and casting a shadow above the fortress with its light hitting the serpents that draped around their crosses. 

Ragnar and the others waited as they watched the fortress’s gate. 

“We rest. We wait.”  

At his words, his men started to relax, removing their helmets and setting down their weapons. 

Kára still faced the stronghold, her heart thrumming between her ears; Ragnar noticed as he looked around, and turned back to her. 

His hands clasping the neck of his armor, he leaned sideways and whispered in her ear. 

“Your Irishman will be fine.” 

She rolled her eyes, a low chuckle out as she glanced his way. “This is not the time, Ragnar.” She tried not to think of Finan, not wanting distraction to limit her focus on what they needed to do – a task that had become ineffective. 

“This is the perfect time.” He teased, the smirk clear across his face as he bumped his shoulder against hers. He earned himself a genuine smile, her dimple apparent on her right cheek while she shoved him back playfully before walking away. 

A breath exhaled as he watched her joining the others, his own grin slowly disappearing.  

As morning rose, they waited for their signal; a fired arrow to be launched into the sky. 

And when it showed, Kára’s heart stopped.  

“Are you ready?” Ragnar’s voice pulled her out of her trance, the lump in her throat swallowed as she turned to him, silently nodding to his inquiry. 

He lingered, catching the faint glow of the sunrise across her eyes. He was not convinced, a part of him sensing hesitation wavering within the streams of her pupils.  

“You can stay with Brida-” 

She stopped him, a hand to his chest. “I swore to be by your side, Ragnar. This means at the front as well. I won’t abandon you.” 

He sighed, giving her a curt nod as they lifted fists for a quick bump.  

“Let’s move on then.” 

She held onto her weapons and followed him as the first unit marched away from the forest towards the north entrance of the fortress. 

Adrenaline burst in her bloodstream, her body moving through the motion from the moment she held her shield by Ragnar’s side, forcing entry against the doors of Dunholm until they were inside, battling for victory as she took on some of Kjartan’s men coming her way. 

She had no time to think, her mind sent astray as her muscles pushed through, the sound of swords clashing and boisterous screams filling her ears.  

Within the horde of falling warriors – in the midst of chaos, Finan found her fighting fiercely against their opponents, her weapons gripped tightly as she swiftly pivoted and struck them down, protecting Ragnar who stood closely by as he was caught in his own battle.  

The Irishman caught in combat as well, he could only quickly glance her way with slight panic gripping at his insides.  

It was the sight of a soldier running towards her and Ragnar, spear in hand that pushed further strength to his bones.  

He was about to intervene, coming to her defense, when she turned just in time. Without second thought, she dropped her shield and grab the shaft, its metal edge escaping her by an inch away from her waist to her back. She grabbed the weapon and pulled it towards her, dragging its owner as well, until he stopped her just as quickly and nudged her his way, violently grasping her by her throat.  

She tried fighting him off, reaching for the small knife that was hiding behind her back when her assailant went down, crippled to the knees as blood seeped from his mouth. 

She pushed herself away, slipping to the ground as the body landed in front of her. She then looked up, catching her breath and saw Finan standing with his hand stretched out for her to take. 

Relief washing over her, she took his help and stood up, panting a grateful ‘thank you’ his way. He only nodded, breathing out a smile before they parted again, the battle dying down slowly with Uhtred calling for a shield wall. 

The Dunholm troops stuck to a wall, they made the square. Kára found herself standing by Finan’s side once again as Ragnar entered in a duel with Kjartan.  

Her heart stopped, anxiety crippling her to a frozen state as she watched her dearest friend face off his oldest enemy, revenge at the tip of his sword. 

She watched as he tumbled back to the ground; worry carved deep into her form, she grabbed the hilt of her sword resting in its scabbard, ready to jump and help when Finan stopped her, taking her hand in his. She looked to him with a slight frown. All she received was a tight squeeze, a silent signal of reassurance, promising her the outcome will work out in their favor.  

She held onto him, unable to let go as she watched the fight again, Ragnar’s strength overpowering Kajartan until the very end. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze fixated on the way the young Dane battered the dead body, partly horrified at what she was witnessing.  

Her ears muffled at the sound of Brida’s voice, her own tears stinging the corners of her eyes without her knowledge. 

It was the sound of his scream, a guttural sound leaving the crowd dismayed, that tore at her chest, an anguish searing through her heart. 

She hadn’t realized she still had Finan next to her, hand in hand; he gave their hold another squeeze, waking her slightly as she mimicked the motion, adding pressure to his knuckles. 

And when Thyra appeared, the sunken look across her face, the growling wolves by her side – the moment she had lost herself to a scream, vulnerable and confused, Kára flinched, taken aback.  

Finan quietly pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her as if to protect her, hiding her away from the scene unraveling in front of them, heartbroken and distressed.  

     She was unable to find slumber, her eyes fixated over the fire that burned at her feet, the crinkle of the wood pieces its only sound. 

She was lost in her thoughts, her mind drifting over and splitting her apart.   

Her shoulders felt heavy revisiting today’s events – she had never seen Ragnar fight like he had done, his rage taking over every fiber of his being, destroying everything in his path. 

Chills ran down her spine, the echo of his scream engraved into her ears – it had grown faint and distant but remained for now, a haunting image she tried to erase.  

She found solace in his revenge complete, and knew that meant as well it was time to move on; her duty fulfilled by his side, she was now given the option of either staying in Dunholm with him or leave and continue with her sea-driven life. 

She had known her answer already, the illusioned scent of the salt in the air filling her nose. 

She snapped away from her wandering, a cup of ale floating in her view. Looking up, Finan was standing in front of her with a soft smile faintly glowing from the campfire light. 

She quietly accepted his offering before he took a seat by her side, both of them taking heavy sips. 

Concern etched across his brow as he glanced her way; she had yet to speak, noticing her thoughts still holding her hostage. 

He said nothing as well, unable to voice out his worry, struck from the way she was being held upon the flames ahead of them; rogue locks of hair tickled her cheeks in the dark, her hues bursting in amber – sunset radiating across the horizon, with the corner of her lips caught between her teeth, pensive. 

He hadn’t realized she had been staring back at him, her mug empty as she placed it on the floor, her attention shifting to him. 

She moved closer to him, her knees purposely bumping into his, and laid her head on his shoulder.  

He held in his breath, taking a moment for himself; it had been disrupted at the feel of her fingertips searching for him. He wound his arm around her, his other placed on his lap, mingling with her.  

He then placed a soft peck on her forehead, his lips lingering in place before resting his cheek against her. 

She closed her eyes, taking comfort in her friend’s arms; a refuge in the dark, a treasure she had recently found. 

Her mind drifted, forcefully pushed away, unwanted. She was plagued no more, simply breathing in the scent of ember floating in the air with the faint breeze of a cool night. She nestled her nose further into his neck, the whiff of his scent easing her muscles, slowing down the thumping under her ribcage. 

His shadow engulfed her, cradling her with care – a natural pull, pieces finding each other’s edges back into place. 

She didn’t want to let it go – she needed more.  

“Finan...” He heard her voice mumbled against his throat, inaudible to the remaining men around them. 

She slowly pulled away to meet his hues, her breath, ghosts over his lips. 

The air stuck in his lungs, he watched the shimmer of the flames dance around the colors in her eyes as they held his gaze – soundless secrets traipsing from one to the other.  

Instinct called out to him, his wrist hovering above her shoulder as he delicately pushed strands of her hair behind her ear before he trailed downwards, stroking her cheek mindfully. 

She leaned into his touch, air escaping her in comfort.   

“I am in dire need of a distraction tonight.” She paused, tilting her head slightly as she reached the heel of his palm, her lips resting over his skin. Her eyes never left him, taking in the way he stared at her, the depth of his browns unwavering.  

She felt the skip in her heartbeat, the sudden stumble of her pulse before falling back into step; she had been denying it, desperately needing to be unencumbered by a soul tethered to normalcy. She knew she was to leave, and so logic dictated she couldn’t grow attached. 

But a part of her ignored her claim, pushing her to her knees as a way to free herself to her desires. 

“Care to join me?” 

And he was resolute in giving her whatever she wanted – a need of his own, even for just one night of companionship. 

She pulled further away from him, his hand dropping to her lap. He then glanced at her lips, his throat dry, before meeting her again. 

He picked up his drink, chugging down the last sip and placed the cup by his side, turning to her. 

He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips as he kissed her knuckles. “Lead the way.” Determination hidden behind his voice, he spoke low, a slight rumble shaking his chest. 

Lacking delay, Kára pulled him to his feet and marched away from the campfire, the fortress asleep under her light footsteps with the couple scurrying away into secrecy. 

Once they reached her room, Finan walked towards the hearth as she locked the door behind him. 

He took to lighting up the space while she made quick work of her armor, removing every piece and moved towards the bed. 

She remained in her tunic just as Finan finished, the fire burning comfortably in its nest. She pulled him up to stand, her hands undoing his own, reaching for his sword belt, the pauldron covering his left shoulder down to the forearm's braces covering his wrists.  

He let her be, helping her with the finishing touches until she grasped at the leather tunic he still wore and pivoted, making him sit at the edge of the bed. She straddled him and resumed her task, discarding the remaining of his clothes covering his chest until he was bare. 

She then stopped, breathless. 

She pulled back, on his knees, and admired the way his muscles had grown – she was not blind to the way his arms had taken heat, the tissues flexed and defined, naturally settling back into his body.  

He stilled, watching her as her fingers slithered down to his stomach. He then reclined, lying on the mattress with his hands to her hips. 

A shaky breath escaped him, a sudden wave of shyness crossing over his cheeks. 

She cursed under her breath, mesmerized by his thriving strength, suddenly titillated by the thought of his body carnally pressed to hers.  

“Are ya sure about this?” 

She smiled, a smirk dimpling into her cheeks. “I am. Are you?” She could see a slight hesitation shimmering in his eyes, her smile dissipating as she waited for his answer. 

She hovered above him, arm bent by the side of his head, the other tickling his chest hair into random patterns. 

“Aye.” 

She teased him, ghosting her lips over his as he chased her, desperate for a kiss.  

She pulled away instead, wanting to spell out the intention of their night.  

“We’re simply two friends helping each other wash off the day.” 

She could not acknowledge the ache she felt in her heart, a craving she hadn’t felt for a time – a longing she needed to push aside as the night did not call for it. 

‘Just for the next few hours...’ she repeated in her head, a prayer to herself. 

"Whatever you say.” Lost in the intimacy gripping at them, veins tying them together through flesh and bones, Finan could hear the thrumming of his heart between his ears, her hazel hues eyeing him, unrestrained. 

“This won’t mean anything in the morning, alright?”  

Conviction – an attempt to keep such shady truth to herself. 

He barely registered her words, enthralled by her presence – the sheer power she had over him in this moment, a feeling he willingly bowed down to.  

He was aching for more, anticipation scorching his fingertips as he held her in his arms.  

He grasped at the fabric of her shirt, tugging it from the back as he chased for her his lips faintly grazing over her own. She sighed against him, sudden urgency pulsing through her veins.  

Pulling away from him, she reached for the hem, quickly pulling it over her head before discarding it.  

She ignored the goosebumps traveling up her spine, her eyes cast down to meet him.  

Finan muttered, cursing in pleasure at the sight above him; a faint throbbing between her legs, she bit her lip as she watched him fall in a trance with the feel of his palms warming her skin from her hips to her chest, his thumbs caressing the sides of her breasts, teasing her.  

He then took notice of a small mark in the middle, a vague discolored shape nestled on her chest. He traced it over, earning a soft sigh to escape her as she dropped her head downwards, looking over his hand resting on her naked skin.  

She kept her eyes on his hand, locking in the movement as he trailed further up until he reached her neck to her jaw, fingers stroking her chin and lips. 

She shifted her eyes towards him as he sat up, nudging her closer until he felt the pink of her skin graze him. 

Impatience settling between them, the rush to fall into oblivion was rapidly growing, ready to burst from the seams.  

The soft breath they shared, intimate in its dance – the harmony of steps flowed back and forth in want, its essence playful, taunting. 

They continued to undress each other, Kára grabbing onto the lace of his pants before Finan swiftly turned the tables, making her lie down on her back; the sudden movement had her squeal in shock though laughter caught up as he loomed above her, smugness clear in his eyes. 

He took his chance, parting her covered thighs as he lowered himself atop her, his weight leaving her pleasurably breathless, and closed in the distance, finally pressing his lips firmly against hers. 

It had been something he had wanted to do for a long time; to feel the warmth and softness of her skin affectionate upon his. 

He grew intoxicated as he slowly devoured her, relishing in the way he easily quivered under her touch, its ringing descending into his core. 

He could not stop, wanting to breathe her in continuously, swallowing the scent coating her limbs where even the remnants of the ale tasted sweet across her tongue. 

The soft sound of her moans, captured at the back of his throat, trembled under his chest. 

She lost sight of the moment, pursuing the sparks of delight he created, fervently licking at the crumbs – famished.  

Eagerness clawed through veins, sinking them further into bliss and away from the shore. 

The last piece of clothing fell to the ground, delivering her under his mercy as he started trailing down her chest, kissing her birthmark and sucking at her breasts while his hands slipped down to her hips, holding her in place. 

Heavy breaths filled the air, her back snapped away from the mattress as she grasped onto the bed sheets, his dexterous fingers seeking warmth between her thighs.  

The soft sounds of her moans, his name whispered pleasurably across her tongue – a sweet song he held onto, a savory feeling he needed to taste over and over again. 

They spent the rest of the night entangled within each other, both bodies falling into the depth of ecstasy, flesh tainted in bruises and sweat, hardened grips and trembling chords at the helm of their embrace. 

He had become addicting, constantly looking for more – begging for more.  

The way he was taking care of her, making sure she found pleasure under his touch, dedicating every waking breath upon her body; he was unknowingly filling her need to be held, and protected, and cared for.  

Following such a trying day, Finan was soothing her worries, hushing the noise away for the simple bliss burning at their feet. 

     He had expected her to leave as soon as they were done, uninterested in giving time to a calm afterglow.  

He held in his surprise when she lingered, lying on top of him. She had been ready to leave, carrying on with the rest of the night but the timid caresses across her back had stopped her, finding comfort in the way the motion of his fingertips could easily soothe her. 

She gave herself a moment before slipping away, a strained whimper escaping at the back of her throat as she fell next to him.  

“Fuck, this felt good.” She exhaled, both of them staring up and breathless. He ran his fingers through his hair, chuckling softly before turning back to look at her. 

“You’re welcome.” He teased. 

He saw the stretch of her cheeks, her voice vibrating a laughter that shook her chest. She pivoted to him, a smirk gracing her reddened lips. “Are you boasting yourself now?” She shifted, lying sideways as she placed weight on her left elbow, her other hand against him. “Might I remind you, Irishman, you were practically begging heaven as you so dearly and desperately called for me.” She teased him, her nails lightly scratching his chest hair as they danced upon his skin, creating layers of shivers running amuck.  

“Really?” He mimicked her movement, shifting to face her. “And do tell, show me how needy I was for you.” Hand to her jaw, the thickness in the roll of his tongue caught her off-guard as he tugged her his way, the smugness within his gaze heating up her cheeks.  

She tried shaking it off, pretending to think it over. “Well, let’s see-” She turns to find his lap, sitting atop him as she pushed him to lie down. “Oh, fuck, Kára!” He chuckled as he watched her with a grin, enamored by her theatrics, the extravagance in her movements and tone. “Yes, oh god- Kára, you feel like fucking heaven-” A bellowed a laughter from the depth of his lungs, he caught her in his arms, retaliating as he started pinching her, tickling her until she gave up her guard and fell against him. He swiftly shifted, lying her on her back and hovered above her. 

“Is that how you think I sound?” Her breathy giggles fanned across his lips as she nodded, biting her inner cheek.  

Locking eyes, they were attempting catching their breaths as laughter gently died down; though amusement had filled them for this short moment, it had dissipated for heavier air, their chests heaving as Finan settled between her legs, his arms above her as he tenderly stroked her cheek down her chin, his rough fingertips nudging her bottom lip and giving them a quick glance before meeting her hazels. 

He then leaned forward, a soft bump of her nose to his before kissing her. 

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, her knee bending by his waist as she fell in his embrace. She just as quickly kissed him back, her lips parting wantonly. 

The caresses were slow as they took their time. It was the way he held on, the strokes languid – untidy, as if to coax secrets out of the marrow of her bones.  

She followed, a beggar under the weight of his body as he lured her into a state of bliss; they stilled, bodies unmoving with only her soft sighs gracing his ears for every other split of a second apart, a short breath out of water before diving back in. 

Her palms slid up, tracing the muscles of his arms as they rested above her head; she searched for him, wanting to hold his hands. He slowly pulled away, catching the soft honeyed glow around her pupils, silently reaching for her, fingers interlaced comfortably. 

Once again, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers before trailing down to kiss her cheek, her jaw and down her neck, nestling against her. 

She tilted her head his way and slipped her fingers away from him as she hugged him, gently scratching the back of his neck. 

He sensed a change in her demeanor, slowing him down. “Are you alright?” 

A small smile curved her lips. “I am now...” 

He pulled away, looking at her, intrigued. 

Solemnity covered her shades of brown in her gaze, casting shadows across her features. “You had my back today...” 

There was wonder in the way she was looking at him, a soft hint of astonishment furrowing her brows. 

A faint lopsided smile stretched his mouth, a reassuring gesture. “You were looking out for Ragnar. Someone had to look out for ya.” 

“What of you?” She stroked his cheek, placing a soft peck to his lips as he settled next to her, arms around her with her back partially laying against his chest. 

“I don’t need anyone to watch my back. I am too quick for anyone to catch.” He teased, the playful tone in his words making her chuckle.  

“Your agility knows no bound, is that it?” He heard the grin in her response and only huffed a chortle, the sound shaking her.  

Silence sought them afterwards. 

They remained still with Finan nestling against her, taking in the warmth of her body as he pressed his lips across her neck and shoulder. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, listening to his breathing and the faint sound of his beard scratching her skin; serenity smothered her bones, holding her tightly for safety and comfort.  

“Thank you for this...” She whispered under her breath. She then turned around, settling against his chest.  

“No need to thank me.” His tone – lullingly shaped into the way she pushed herself closer to him. 

A coy smile across her face, she placed a kiss on his collarbone and mumbled against him, her hands slithering down to his stomach, rubbing palm to flesh. “I could definitely use someone of your... agility, for a good hump every once in a while.”  

A throaty chuckle escaped him, resonating while smirking as he turned to her. “Does that mean we will be doing this again?”  

She pivoted as well, one leg carelessly thrown around him, her breasts pressed to him. “Sure.” She gave him a nonchalant shrug and proceeded, leading him on, taunting him playfully. “I don’t see the harm unless you-” 

“No harm at all. That is alright with me.” He held up his hands up in defense, tackling on the banter she had initiated. 

“Good.” She bit the skin inside her lip as she moved to straddle him once again and straightened her back. Hands to her hips, he remained with the smug look across his face, stroking her bare skin, the callousness of his touch desperately welcomed. 

His hues followed her silhouette, from the way desire had colored her cheeks to streams reaching the sparks across her eyes, to the way her braids had grown disheveled and pushed away to rest on her back, down the marks he had left earlier tonight, sweetly decorating her chest and further down to the way she hugged his hips, as if to anchor herself atop him, not wanting to part. 

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her as his head fell backwards, meeting her gaze. She cupped his cheeks, her thumbs faintly running over the corners of his mouth and across his bottom lip. 

“Now, do you think Uhtred will mind waiting for you?”  

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” He caught the tip of her finger, as he locked gaze with her. 

With a stifled giggle, mischief glowed within her hazel eyes, anticipation rising in the pit of her stomach. 

“Let’s make him wait, then.” 

--------

xoxo

taglist: @gemini-mama @iamfandomnerd @ladyinred2248 @gco95

[viridian-dagger]

Seiðr of a Death Singer - Prologue

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: named/minimally described oc, murder, non-explicit rape, sacrifices to norse gods, magical hysterectomy, evil nuns and evil priests, death, violence, physical abuse, seer!oc, kjartan is an absolute cunt but he's only in this one (and dies), underage mc for half, sex work, bastards, heresy, using religion to justify murder, oc is essentially poisoned and rendered effectively mute, stabbing... if i forgot anything please let me know!

word count: 10k lol

Author's Note: here begins my first stab at a last kingdom fic ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ this first chapter has a slightly different form than the rest, because I'm trying to get us through s1 and s2, but we abandon canon along the way. The POV timelines overlap so bare with me while we get to the start. Let me know what you think and if you wanna be tagged in upcoming parts! also this might end poly so i'm tagging all the potential ships until i decide. cross posted on ao3! beta read by @witchoftheewilds

1. Røskva  

Røskva always knew she was different. She could see it in her mother’s eyes when she was barely old enough to be trusted to run to the baker on her own. It was even more noticeable when her mother left her at her nan’s door just before her 6th summer.

Her nan had been kinder. Kinder than most. Definitely kinder than her mother had been. Her nan taught her to read and write, how to mix salves, make teas, and treat wounds. Røskva was set to be a proper hedgewitch, fit to take over for her nan when she chose to step aside.

Her nan had also understood the part of Røskva that had frightened her mother. Had warned her about how to stay safe and undetected as a seer. Her nan was a seer too, not a powerful one but a seer nonetheless. She’d warned Røskva about the things kings and chieftains would do to her in order to harness her power. 

“My sister was bound to a cruel lord, Røskva,” her nan told her one night. “He bound her to him in blood. He used her for evil, vile things. And when she refused — he killed her. You stay away from anyone who wants to use your visions for their own benefit.”

Røskva had tried to listen, and did her best to keep the evidence of her gifts to herself. But nothing could stop the vision of her village falling to ruin and flames. Blood spilled on the grass. She hadn’t been able to stop screaming while she watched it play out. 

It had been her undoing. Kjartan the Cruel came, hearing tales of a powerful witch who could stop the hands of death from reaching him. Of course he was mistaken; she was only a scrawny girl with knobby knees who hadn't yet gotten her first moonblood.

It had only served in making him more cruel. He forced her to watch as he slit the throat of her nan, and burned her village to ash. He sent his heir, Sven the One Eyed, after anyone who ran. 

Kjartan had bound her to him in blood that night. He carved the binding runes into the arch of her foot before stealing her maiden hood as she screamed. 

Røskva was sure she hadn't stopped weeping until they reached Dunholm the next day.  But it wasn’t until she had been tossed unceremoniously on the floor of a bedroom, and two pairs of  young, empty eyes stared back at her that the fear set in. Both of the girls were older than her, not by much, but both were round with babes.

That night, she had prayed to Frigga not to let a child quicken in her own womb. She sliced her palm open on the edge of a floorboard, drawing symbols on the floor in her blood before burning the bits of bits of birch and mistletoe she found in the pocket of her dress. She begged Frigga not to let her suffer the same fate. She pleaded to all the Gods she could think of not to force her to bear Kjartan’s child.

The next morning, she found herself wet with blood and weak as the two other women screamed for help. 

Kjartan’s hedge witches confirmed she would never bear a child. She couldn’t help but smile as Kjartan raged. She had barely even noticed when he took her again; the satisfaction that she would never bear him a child was worth the blinding pain.

Kjartan’s whores were kind to her after that. They knew she’d never bear him an heir, so they accepted her into their fold. She taught them and their children to read and write when Kjartan was off raiding with Sven. 

The visions came strongly when they were away. They always ended the same — both a little older, dying without honor. The methods changed frequently, though. Each brought satisfaction that knew no bounds. But in every vision, there was a man with bright blue eyes and a sword with an amber attached to the hilt.

Røskva itched to blend teas and make salves, but she wasn’t allowed out of Dunholm without Sven as her guard. Neither he nor his father trusted her not to run as soon as she was given room to breathe. She had sighed about it to Mylin while she cleaned the cut on the face of her son, Sihtric.

Not two days later, she had a sachet of mallow and ground ivy on her bed, and the mismatched blue and brown eyes of the boy following her wherever she went. 

It took him six moons to gather the courage to speak to her freely, and another six to stop blushing whenever she looked him in the eyes. They spoke about what her life was like before Kjartan had stolen her, and about her visions. He had held her face in his hands as he tapped the tattoo into the thin skin of her her throat

She told him of the deaths that would befall Kjartan and Sven, and how she could think of nothing more thrilling than their deaths. Sihtric had smiled then, his teeth seeming to sharpen as he surged forward and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“I swear, I will find a way to free you from my father. I don’t care what I have to do,” he whispered between breathless kisses. “I swear, I will never leave you to suffer here alone.” 

And just for a moment, she believed him.

It was only days later that Kjartan and Sven returned to Dunholm with a pretty redheaded woman named Thyra, and she didn’t need to ask to know that they had killed her family. The red rimmed eyes told her all she had needed to know.

Røskva had stolen away into the young woman’s room after Sven had grown tired of the woman’s wailing and found solace in one of his father’s whores.

“What are you doing here?” Thyra hissed when she slid into the room, eyeing her warily. Røskva did not blame her for not trusting her until she told her the blend of tea she had brought for the redhead. The whispered truth of tansy and yarrow, hidden with ginger and mint had Thyra collapsing into Røskva’s arms in a fit of tears. 

She did her best to soothe the poor woman, understanding her pain.

From then on, her and Thyra had become friends. Røskva snuck into her rooms when she could, surprised by the army of dogs that were steadily growing in numbers. 

Thyra told Røskva about her brothers, and about how they would free them from Kjartan’s wretched hold. “I promise, my dearest friend, when they come for me they will free you too.”

Røskva didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d given up on the idea of ever leaving Kjartan. Not when he came to her bed every night demanding prophecies of his greatness as he took her. Not when he would whip her for breathing a word of his dishonourable death. She knew she shouldn’t tell him, but the fear in his eyes filled her with glee whenever she said it. But he had bound himself to her in blood. The only way she would ever leave his service would be if he let her go, or if he died dishonored. And he was too cruel to ever allow her to leave.

It was only when Sihtric whispered his promise to save her that she dared to hope.

She learned to cherish when Dunholm was free of its lords. She and Thyra could speak more freely, the other women were less fearful, the children smiled and played, and Sihtric sought her out bearing herbs and asking only for payment in stolen kisses in the dark of night. 

“I swear on my life, I will find a way to free you,” he mouthed against her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse as she shuddered in his arms.

The night before her 15th name day, with Sihtric curled around her back as she slept, she dreamed of death. A man tied to the bow of a ship, steadily drowning as his friends were forced to row. A mother fading in her childbed from fever. A holy man with a bolt to the chest. A woman screaming as fire consumed her home. A man with a crown on his brow passing in his bed. Kjartan being stabbed repeatedly as his sword remained out of reach. Sven being devoured by dogs. Many others followed, too many to count. 

She awoke to the sound of screaming, a pair of mismatched eyes staring down at her in fear, and ice gripping her heart.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Mylin told her that the screaming had been Røskva's own. 

Kjartan returned a few days later after hearing word of the prophecies. Her head was splitting still and she couldn’t muster the strength of a lie. He’d whipped her till she fainted from the pain and sent Sihtric out on a mission after he protested her treatment.

Sihtric had stolen into her rooms later that night before he left. “If it is the last thing I do in this life, I will see that you are free again,” he sighed, forehead pressed against hers as twin tears fell down their cheeks. They had marked each other in ink that night, finishing when the light was creeping across the horizon. Sihtric slipped away with the dawn, swearing again that he would return for her.

She waited and waited, tracing the black lines on the back of her hand and her throat as she worried over him. And on the eve of her 16th name day, the doubt crept in. Mylin was gone by the next year and that was when she realized he had deserted her. And by her 18th, she knew she’d never see him again.

The visions worsened as she spent time alone, wandering between deaths like a ghost. It became harder to differentiate reality and the visions. With Mylin dead and Sihtric gone, the isolation began to gnaw at her sanity. 

Thyra had grown wilder and more haunted as time passed. She stopped speaking of her brothers, and her family. No coaxing or tales of Røskva’s own youth could break her from her melancholy. She begged Thyra to tell her what could soothe the pain in her heart.

“The only thing that would soothe me is the knowledge of their deaths. I want not for love, nor laughter, nor family. Only pain brought upon the ones who killed my parents.”

In a moment of weakness, Røskva whispered the prophecies of their deaths — that both would die dishonored and be made to wander Niflheim for eternity.

Røskva knew she had made a mistake as soon as the words passed her lips. The haunted look in the other woman’s eyes cleared as a sharp grin spread across her face as she pleaded to her friend to not breathe a word of what she’d said to anyone.

It was only days later that Sven took her out of Dunholm. She knew something was wrong when they didn’t stop at the meadow she usually gathered chamomile and wild garlic from. He walked her to the edge of the river and slid a blade into her gut.

“You’re released from service, witch. You hold no sway over our deaths,” he sneered before pushing her into the icy waters behind her.

She fought for air, fought for life, but darkness took her into its cold embrace.

2. Sihtric

Sihtric had never been so torn in his life. He’d sworn his loyalty and his life to Uhtred, who wanted to kill Kjartan and Sven just as much as he himself did. The first time he had seen the Dane-Slayer and the amber tipped hilt on his back, Sihtric knew he would be the best person to enlist to kill his father. Especially knowing Kjartan wanted Uhtred dead. 

His new lord had been inching them back towards Dunholm, stopping at every shithole along the way to get more men and gain alliances. Sihtric had thought that gaining the allegiance of a King would make things move faster, but Guthred was a slimy, slippery bastard and Sihtric seethed thinking about what he'd done. What he cost them.

Selling Uhtred and Halig into slavery had been devastating and infuriating. The little cunt of a king had hidden behind the priests when confronted with his treachery and had slithered back into his hall. Two years in the turd-king’s service had done Sihtric no good; all he had gained was a friend in the big Dane named Clapa, and gotten quite adept at drinking ale until young Ragnar had come and told them his plan.

The young earl had been single-minded in his search for Uhtred. And when they had finally found him, it had been a relief, even if the man was shattered, and Halig gone forever. But in his place, Uhtred had found Finan. The Irishman had warmed to Sihtric immediately after seeing Uhtred embrace him. The man was crass, and Gods, Sihtric didn't know how he'd ever catch game again with the man’s booming voice carrying like a death singer’s cry. But Sihtric was grateful for the man, and for Young Ragnar, Brida, and even the nun, Hild. It was because of them that Uhtred had returned.

It took time for Uhtred to return to himself, and even longer to fully gain his strength and his true smile. Lady Gisela and Hild helped the most in putting their lord back together. Finan joined him less and less on night guard, the Irishman was finally able to sleep through most nights. Things felt better in the two years that Uhtred had returned, and the arrival of the young Uhtred had been the last piece that seemed to heal him.

But Sihtric felt a weight on him; every night before he closed his eyes, he saw her staring back at him. He’d sworn her an oath, and many years had already passed. Four since he'd left, but nearly ten since he'd first sworn a vow to her. Surely she’d felt abandoned by him, and he couldn't blame her. He traced the black lines on his head and neck as he remembered her face, time beginning to distort his memory of her. 

He knew his mother had already passed on. She'd hid it well enough from the other girls, but he knew she wouldn't have survived the summer after he left. She had urged him to leave before then, to find someone who would rip his father from the world, root and stem. Uhtred had always been that man — Røskva had known this to be true without even realizing that the men from her visions were Thyra’s brothers. 

Thoughts of Røskva plagued him as he travelled — and when he slept, when he couldn't sleep, when he ate, when he laughed, when he saw the haunted look in Uhtred or Finan’s eyes. It was an ache in his bones he couldn't relieve. He could remember the way her breath caught in her chest when he'd sworn to find her. To save her. He hadn't realized how foolish it'd been until he'd sworn his oath to Uhtred. Sihtric was but a boy when he'd sworn to her. He was a foolish child, unable to fulfill the promise he'd made.

But she was even more a child than he’d been. Gods, he should have slaughtered his father and half brother the day they'd brought her home. They'd ridden off to collect a witch and come back with a screaming, helpless girl who hadn’t even grown tits yet. And she’d sacrificed any future children so as to not be tied to his cruel, heartless father, and did it without a second thought.

Røskva had always been stronger than him. She’d vexed him endlessly with her stubbornness. Every time he'd have to clean the whip marks on her back, she'd bear it in silence until he finally broke and asked her why she didn't lie.

“Because I'm not afraid of him. The worst thing he could do to me now is kill me, and it would be a welcome reprieve. So every time I tell him he'll die and spend eternity in Niflheim, and I can see the terror in his eyes, it is worth this pain,” she would say with a fire in her eyes that frightened him. 

He'd never told her, but Sihtric loved her eyes. Despite everything his father had done to her, everything she had endured, her eyes were so alive. If one looked into them, they could read every thought as it passed through her head. It was the only thing his bastard father hadn't taken from her; the life in her.

Sihtric feared more than anything that he himself would be the reason the fire in her eyes died.

It was those eyes that haunted him these past four years. Every step was to get closer to her, to freeing her. Uhtred was a good lord, a worthy lord. Serving him meant freeing Røskva. And if she wanted nothing to do with him any longer he'd bear the broken heart and leave her in peace. But she deserved peace. She deserved a life.

Riding up to Dunholm had filled him with dread, but Uhtred and Ragnar had a solid plan. Breaking in from a back door that only the slave women used while Ragnar sieged the front gate had been genius. And as soon as the battle had begun, he felt nothing but the hate he had harboured for his half brother and his father. He wanted the Ragnarssons to kill them, to make them suffer for all he, his mother, and the other women had suffered under their rule. But mostly he wanted them to suffer for what they'd done to Røakva. 

The battle had been won easily; his father hadn’t inspired loyalty like Ragnar or Uhtred. His men fled once they realized their end was near. Sven had been attacked by Thyra’s hounds, and his father had been dispatched to Niflhelm, disgraced and without his weapon; just as Røskva had predicted. 

He hadn’t been prepared for the savagery of Ragnar though. The desperation and hurt in the young earl as he hacked away at his father’s corpse had been shocking. It was enough for Finan to put a hand on his shoulder in support as they all watched in horror as the man collapsed into his brother’s arms and sobbed. Sihtric wondered if Røskva would do the same if she were able. To finally release years of pent up rage on his father. He found that he couldn’t blame Ragnar for it; it was justice. For all of them.

Watching the siblings reunite had filled him with fear at the prospect of reuniting with Røskva. Thyra had been so angry and hurt when Uhtred and Ragnar called out to her. But Father Beocca had gotten the woman to call off her hounds. Mayhaps he should bring the priest with him to speak to Røskva…

“Sihtric! What’s the name of the bloody lass you can’t stop mooning over?” Finan called out from the window of the slave house.

“Røskva! Ask them where the little witch is!” He called back and Finan smiled before disappearing again through the window.

Uhtred came up to him then, eyes red and glassy but the smile on his face was evident. “Thank you, Sihtric Kjartansson. I know it must not have been easy to betray your kin. But you will forever have a seat at my table, if you should choose to take it.”

Sihtric smiled back, grasping the man’s forearm, “My only kin here was my mother, who I know is dead, and Røskva. She…. she was my father’s seer, and the only person who ever struck fear into him,” Sihtric explained, pressing his forehead against Uhtred’s.

“You love this girl, yes?” Uhtred asked with a wry smile. Sihtric felt his face warm as he nodded and turned away. “Well then, I look forward to meeting the girl who made Kjartan the Cruel tremble in her wake!”

“She was still a child when I left. I swore I would return for her…” he admitted as Uhtred pulled him under his arm and they began walking. “I fear she thinks I have forsaken her for glory.”

“But you are here, and you are making good on your oath. My sister is also hurt, and feels abandoned, but she is already starting to forgive. Our women are not like these soft Saxons; their fury burns hot and fast. But Røskva will forgive you, Sihtric. Do not despair,” Uhtred smiled. 

He spotted Finan speeding toward him with a grim determination on his face, “Sihtric, we need to speak.”

“Where is Roskva?” He asked, feeling the tendrils of panic surge in him. “Was she hurt? Is she okay? What did he do to her?”

Finan opened his mouth to speak, but the hissing tone of Dagný cut him off. “She’s dead because of you, Sihtric Kjartansson!”

Despair shot through him like an arrow. He could not believe it. She couldn't be dead. She brought death, she did not succumb to it. His father couldn't have killed her; he was too fearful of her.

“Explain yourself woman!” Uhtred demanded, hand grasping Sihtrics shoulder.

“Sven may have murdered her on your father’s order, but make no mistake; she does not live because you left her here to rot.” She hissed again, before spitting at his feet and walking away.

“She went mad at the end,” another voice whispered, but he didn't turn to look at who was speaking. “Trapped in visions, she was. Screaming about death. Sven took her out one day, and he came back alone. About a year ago.”

Sihtric’s chest ached as his mind spun. A year. He could have come for her a year ago. He could have done more. And he didn't. 

And he would have to learn to live with the gaping hole in his heart that his failure had left.

3. Røskva

She woke to the hushed whispers of women. Bleary eyed, she could not differentiate between them and their grey forms. She tried to free herself, but was swept back into the current of darkness. 

She was swept from battle to battle. Hundreds and thousands of men perishing in pain. Women dying in childbirth. A man stabbed in the eye after an alehouse brawl. A woman dying at the hands of a cruel husband. Children dying from the cold or hunger. People dying asleep in their beds. 

The onslaught of death pulled her under and she could do nothing but let each one flow through her.

She awoke again days later in a haze. There was no more whispering. No more grey garbed women. She was alone, in a warm bed. The small room had nothing but a chair beside her bed with a pitcher of water and cup sitting on the seat, and a strange wooden ornament on the wall.

“Oh heavens! You’re awake!” A woman gasped from the doorway. “Sister, go fetch the Abbess. She’ll want to speak to our guest,” she ordered someone else before bustling into the room.

Røskva watched her as she tittered about, filling the cup and handing it to her, clucking like a hen until Røskva drank.

“Dear, we were frightened when you screamed like the Devil himself was chasing you! I’m sure you were afraid too, screaming like that. But drink now and recover your voice. The Abbess will want to speak with you.”

Røskva watched in silence as the woman fretted over her. The frantic smothering reminded her of her nan. The memory of her nan hadn’t found her in years, and it brought a fresh stinging pain and a tear to her eye. The grief was still sharp, despite the years it had been since Kjartan had slit her throat. 

Røskva didn’t have time to dwell on it as an elderly woman swept into the room, shooing the other women out.

“Alright child, no time for tears. Tell me where you came by such an injury and found yourself drowning in a river. Did your husband do this to you?” She asked simply.

The truth caught in her throat as she looked at the woman. Kjartan was her slaver, her captor. He was never her husband. He was too foul for the word. The only man who she’d even considered marrying and running away with had been dead to her for 3 years. It would be easy to lie; say her husband tried to kill her… But the lie caught in her throat all the same. 

“I haven’t all day, child. If it was your husband, we will report it to the church and render your marriage void,” she huffed impatiently, “I can see by the markings on you that you were claimed by a heathen. We can tell the church you were taken against your will, and you will stay here as a sister for the remainder of your days.”

The fragile piece of freedom she’d felt upon waking grew teeth in that moment. No, she would not stay, but she also did not owe this woman her truth, her life, or her freedom.

“Raiders,” Røskva rasped out, wincing at the pain it brought. “I ran. He caught me.”

The woman assessed her cautiously, eyes narrowing as she looked her over, eyes catching again on the tattoo on her throat. “How old are you, child?”

“19,” she rasped back.

“You are a child,” the woman sneered. “Are you pure?” The confusion on her face must have been evident because the drab woman scoffed. “Have you ever laid with a man!”

Her eyes must have given it away, because the woman was out of her seat in a huff as she called for another woman to join them.

Turning back to Røskva with a glare she spoke again, “You may stay until your wounds recover, but you will refrain from speaking to the impressionable sisters here. Either Sister Mildreth or I will tend to you, and when you are healed we can help you find a home in the nearby town. But once you are healed you will find no shelter here.”

With that, she left. The grey billow of her robes snapping as she disappeared down the corridor. 

A younger, sour faced woman swept in moments later. “I’m Sister Mildreth,” the woman said plainly. “I’ll be here to check on your wounds until you’re healed. What’s your name?”

Røskva narrowed her eyes. The woman had all the charm of a thorn in her foot. 

“Where am I?” Røskva snapped. “Why are you all calling each other sister?”

Evidently, it was a poor question. Because the woman’s sour expression turned to one of open hatred. “Heathen wench,” she hissed. “You’re in a house of God!”

“Which one?”

“The One True God!” She snapped in return.

Røskva sighed and nodded, remembering what her nan had told her about the Anglo-Saxons and their God, their rules, and their holy books. It made no sense to her, but she figured she owed these sisters for not letting her die in a frozen river. 

“Give thanks to your God. I will heal and leave you all in peace,” Røskva promised. “I have no problem with you, Sister Mildreth. I am grateful to you.”

“If you were grateful you would give up your heathen ways and repent to the Lord,” she hissed. 

“I cannot. I am pledged to my Gods. I can not forsake them for yours,” she said softly. 

“Then to hell it is with you,” the young woman snapped.

Røskva sighed; she no longer feared Hel nor Niflheim. Death would be a welcome change compared to her life with Kjartan and Sven. Røskva ignored the woman’s muttering as she tended to her wounds. 

“This wound has no doubt made you barren,” she said harshly. “Tis a small blessing, as you will not give England any more heathens.”

“I was made barren at 10. I prayed to my Gods and they answered. I revel in the gift they have given me by stripping me of a womb. I will never be a slave to a man who whelped a babe off me like an animal,” Røskva sneered back.

The sister fled with a gasp, leaving Røskva to her thoughts.

Røskva was… free. She waited for the fear of it to come, but it never did. All she could summon was a breathless relief. 

And the feeling gripped her with strong jaws and teeth that sank into her bones. She couldn't even find it in herself to be snappy with the Abbess or Sister Mildreth when they called her a wicked heathen or a whore. By the time she healed fully they had given up on insulting her and left her in silence after she had refused to take part in the Christian bathing ceremony.

The Abbess had kept her word on finding her a room in a nearby village after she healed. The Abbess had found an innkeeper who was sure she had no issue with an unmarried, Godless woman renting a room. 

The Abbess hadn't been amused when Røskva pointed out that she had more Gods than all the people in the room combined but the innkeeper had given her a wry smile and a wink.

But the innkeeper, Gunda, had welcomed her after the nuns left in a huff. She promised a room and daily food in exchange for help around the inn until she could find a wage. 

But Røskva had other plans. As soon as she'd been released by Gunda for the afternoon, she ran to the river’s edge and began collecting herbs. 

And that night in her room, she gave her offerings to her Gods and began her work. She dried herbs to make teas, salves, tinctures, poultices, whatever she could think of.  And the customers came fast. 

She found quickly that the village had lost their healer a few months before, and there were many people who were willing to overlook her heathen ways for her treatments.

Healing others was easy, but she wasn’t sure she could ever heal her own wounds.

4. Uhtred

Uhtred was sick of Mercia and all their problems. The screams from down river had been grating and kept nearly all of Coccham awake most nights. The sounds struck sympathy through his wife, blooming steadily with his child, fear into his children who were too young to be plagued by the fear of raiders and slavers, and unease into himself and his men.

It bothered Uhtred endlessly that he could do nothing but sit and listen to the screams while the Mercian king sat by and did nothing to end the suffering of his own people. Mercia was at the top of his ever growing list of problems.

When Alfred had given him permission to venture down river into Mercia, to help the villagers and stop the raiders from destroying everything while their king did nothing, he had felt a grim satisfaction but it was short lived. Not even his men’s jokes about Sihtric mooning over the alehouse whore in Witancaester or Clapa’s jokes could keep the rage at bay. 

When Uhtred saw the line of women and children in chains, following behind two men on horses, he saw red, cutting down the slavers without remorse. He knew he'd spend every night freeing Mercia from slavers if he had to, even if his wife would banish him from her bed for it. Alfred had been clear on banning the Saxons from slaving. The Mercian cunt failing to do even that was impossible to forgive. 

But coming home to Aethelwold and tales of a corpse proclaiming Uhtred the King of Mercia and Aethelwold the King of Wessex did little for his mood, and a summons to Wintanceaster for the Princess Aethelfled’s wedding, from the King himself, did nothing to help.

Not even a tryst with his wife on the road had helped, because it led him to meeting the princess’s groom, Aethelred of Mercia. The little shit had called his wife a whore and questioned who had fathered the babe she grew, and if it hadn’t been for her, the man would have lost his tongue for it before he could swear his vows to his bride. Finan, Sihtric, and the rest of the men were ready to demand blood for her honor. But it was only at Gisela's insistence that they were forced to let the insult go.

The wedding did nothing to help his mood either with Aethelwold whispering in his ear treasonous things about them ruling Wessex and Mercia together. Uhtred knew he would have to go see this ghost. The only pleasant surprise was the arrival of the baby monk, Osferth. The young man was Alfred’s bastard, raised in the faith but desired a warrior’s life. He was eager, and green, but Uhtred found the boy endearing and agreed to take him under his wing.

Gisela smiled and pressed herself up on her toes to kiss him after he strapped on his armor in preparation to leave, “Be kind to the new stray you’ve picked up; he doesn’t know what this life means yet. And tell Sihtric he can marry the girl if he does well tonight.”

“I won’t let him marry a whore who loves nothing more than his silver because he's broken hearted over the seer girl that Kjartan murdered,” Uhtred sighed, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist. 

She frowned at him, “Did you not find love after Iseult died? She was taken from you, and you loved her. Why are you denying him the same thing?”

“Because you were not a whore; you were the sister of a king,” he reminded her.

“Is Aethelfled not a whore in a bridal gown? If you keep on like this, maybe you believe I truly belong to your uncle,” Gisela spit back.

“Even if she was not a whore, which I do not grudge her for, she does not love him. Steapa told me that she calls him a heathen and a fool when we are at Coccham.”

Gisela's eyes narrowed as she pulled away from him, “I will be confirming that with Steapa, you know it would not do you well to lie and pacify me.”

Uhtred laughed softly and wrapped himself around his wife again. “I know I am not the most honest man, but lying to my wife would end in cruelty I have yet to know. I would not dare to insult you this way.”

She softened and twined her fingers with his, “Do not tell him this, Uhtred; it will break his heart.”

He had ended up promising Sihtric if he could swear he was not trying to fill the hole the little witch he lost had left him, and he could swear to his whore’s loyalty, he would allow them to marry. Sihtric had initially been pleased, but by the time they were riding back to Witancaester, he hadn’t spoken about the girl again. He simply rode beside Finan in silence. 

When they returned, Uhtred was greeted by Beocca and Steapa at the gates of the city. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to kiss his wife before Alfred was summoning him to fix more of Mercia’s problems. This time, they were sent to Lunden, to handle something Aethelred should have been able to do on his own. The Mercian cunt had questioned his loyalty to Alfred openly, and it took every ounce of self restraint not to kill him. The little shit was lucky Beocca and Thyra had waited to tell him about Aethelfled’s treatment at her new husband’s hands; it was likely he would have cleaved his head from his shoulders in front of the Witan. 

The more he had to deal with the Mercian cunt the more surprised Uhtred was at finding someone who bothered him more than Aethelwold. At least Aethelwold was easy to ignore, and easier to threaten into silence. And there were those blessed times where he’d been too drunk to speak. But Aethelred seemed to exist purely to piss off Uhtred and his men.

The siege had been poorly planned and even more poorly executed. If he had known the Mercian cunt had brought the princess and Thyra with him to the front, he would have sent her back to Witancaester with Finan. Sihtric, and Clapa. It was only after they had ransacked the camp when Beocca screamed for his wife that Uhtred learned of the women being brought there. He had nearly seen red then but his men had kept him from killing the boy. That was when he learned that Erik and Siegfried had taken Aethelflaed.

Alfred had been livid and immediately sent Uhtred to try and get her back. He had pleaded for Alfred to reconsider, seeing as he would be gone for weeks and Gisela was close to her labors. But he was rebuffed and sent regardless.

He was grateful for Hild, Thyra, and Beocca who swore they would look after Gisela while he was gone. And even more grateful that his wife did not deem it necessary to kill him for missing the birth of his new son. 

The journey to Beamfleot was long and every hour spent in Aethelred’s presence grated on him.

“Lord, I say we get him drunk and leave his sorry ass out in the cold,” Finan suggested with a smirk.

“It would be a kindness, Lord. Men like him deserve to be put down like rabid dogs,” Sihtric groused from the other side of him.

“Unfortunately, we can do neither. Alfred warned me that I would lose his backing if I mistreated the Mercian shits in any way,” Uhtred sighed. “I want to be rid of Mercia and its problems, and return to Coccham with my wife and our children.”

“We all want that, Lord. Hopefully Alfred will see after this what a useless shite he married his daughter off to,” Finan agreed.

“We could only be so lucky,” Uhtred mused before turning to Sihtric. “Ride ahead to Baemfleot and warn them of our coming. Tell Erik that we desire to negotiate for Lady Aethelflaed, and warn him of her husband. But tell him I require to see her before we can negotiate. I will not make a deal for a corpse.”

Sihtric nodded and rode ahead without a word.

“Lord, I don’t know what you told him about his whore, but he hasn’t said her name in weeks,” Finan said lowly.

“I told him I would permit the union if he could swear he was not trying to lose himself in another to numb his loss, and if he could swear the whore’s loyalty. I believe I made him see the error of his choice in a bride,” Uhtred explained, but the guilt gnawed at him. “Maybe I was too harsh. Gisela and Thyra believe I was.”

“No, Lord. You saved us all from another problem. We’re already working our arses off to save a princess from the problems caused by one shite marriage. Who knows what another would bring us,” Finan groaned.

Uhtred knew Finan was right when they reached Beamfleot. Uhtred was ready to throw the princess over his shoulder and carry her back to Witancaester kicking and screaming when she begged him to leave her with Erik; they had apparently fallen in love. It had taken all of his effort not to lose his temper, but he couldn’t find it in himself to disparage her for wanting to rid herself of her husband. Uhtred promised to do what he could, but it would not be easy.

He had to remind himself constantly that she was little more than a child, but her outbursts and tantrums grated on him while she openly insulted everyone who would listen. He found that he did not envy Erik in the slightest.

He sent Steapa back to Witancaester with the terms of their negotiation and waited for the big man’s return. The waiting served to remind him of the time he was spending away from Gisela and his children. Stiorra would rebuke him in the way only 4 year olds could for missing her name day, and Young Uhtred would undoubtedly gripe about the missed riding lessons he’d been promised. But worse, he knew that each day that passed he chanced missing his new son’s arrival. Gisela had decided on Osbert and refused to be swayed. Despite his protests, he always smiled at the thought of her naming their sons after him.

The night Steapa returned, before he could even tell anyone that the offer Erik made was accepted, all hell broke loose. Baemfleot went up in flames with Lady Aethelflaed trapped inside. Erik had died at Siegfried’s hand, and the plan was in shambles.

When the dust of battle settled, both Erik and Siegfried were dead, along with Clapa and many other good men. And the ride back to Witancaester was a somber affair with Aethelfled still bound to Aethelred.

Alfred had met them at the gate of the city, giving his thanks before hastily sending him to attend to his wife, who’s labors had begun the day before according to Beocca. Uthred raced through town to Thyra and Beocca’s home, and the weight of the last few weeks lifted off his shoulders hearing the cry of a babe ring out into the open air. 

But it was Hild, not Gisela who greeted him at the door.

“Uhtred, my friend, she is gone,” Hild said, eyes filling with tears as she pulled him into a hug. “She fought, and she has given you a son.”

“She can not be gone, I must see her,” Uhtred cried, pulling away from the embrace, but Hild’s arms tightened around him.

“Uhtred, she is gone. But she wanted me to tell you that she will meet you in Valhalla when it is your time, and that you must live and find happiness while she waits for you.”

Uhtred could barely breathe as he collapsed to his knees, heart shattering in his chest. He did not know how to do what his beloved wife requested of him; he knew his happiness had died with her.

5. Røskva

The fall air was wet and dreary. Røskva had been excited at the turn of the season if only to get out of the hot, sticky summer, but the cold was worsening Gunda’s health. The older woman had become like family to her in the few years that she’d been living there. Røskva was worried about her stomach pains, but her offerings to the Gods never yielded a vision of Gunda’s death, so her fears were abated for the time being.

Gunda had learned of her visions, and had taken the news in stride. She dealt with the customers and let Røskva hide away with her visions and her herbs. The only times Røskva had to see anyone was when a truly sick customer came, and when she would deliver supplies to the abbey.

The years had also softened her relationship with the nuns from the abbey — the Abbess herself couldn’t deny the salve Røskva made to aid with the older  woman’s bone pains — and Røskva was happy to provide. 

The years had softened her own fears, but not much. She no longer woke screaming most nights, seeing Kjartan’s face in her sleep. He hadn’t appeared to her since the vision of his death came one last time. It was as if she was there, feeling the seax stab into her own wrist and the blade arc down into her chest. The man who wielded a sword was a Dane with blond hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, with a tattoo between his brows. She felt the rage in him and shared it, reveling in the fear Kjartan felt in his last moments.

She woke half the village screaming that night, but she woke knowing that he and Sven were dead. Gunda hadn’t asked how she knew, but never doubted her for a second.

It didn’t stop Røskva from sleeping with a dagger under her pillow even now. Dreams of Sihtric haunted her for years, but now she had dreams of grey rats descending on her with noose and flame.

It was another dream of flames and pain that woke her that morning. It had taken until the sun rose for her grip on the dagger to loosen, and then the sounds of Gunda bustling about had gotten Røskva to unbar the door and rejoin the world. Gunda had waved her off when she had offered to make breakfast that morning, not liking the look of the way the other woman's hands shook with effort when she picked up the kettle. But Gunda had argued that the haunted look in Røskva’s eyes and the bags underneath them were reason enough to send the girl on her way.

“You need the rest more. Kept awake with your visions all night, didn’t you?” Gunda asked with a shake of her head and a tut as Røskva looked at the table in silence. Gunda sighed and took one of her hands. “Go on and get your herbs. I'll be here with my old bones when you get back, child.”

Røskva had stopped to deliver salve and tea to the abbey when the vision came: Gunda dropping dead on the kitchen floor as the kettle screamed on the fire. Røskva came out of the vision screaming as the sisters fluttered around her like chickens. She hadn’t bothered to explain before taking off in a sprint toward the inn. 

She could hear the kettle down the street and knew the truth of her vision but didn’t want to believe it. It was only when she found Gunda curled up on the ground that she allowed herself to weep. She didn’t notice the gathering crowd, nor the way the sisters whispered between themselves. All Røskva knew was that she lost the only person who cared about her in this world.

The sisters arranged for Gunda’s body to be taken with their custom, and she didn't argue. She knew Gunda believed in the Christian God, but never held Røskva in contempt for believing in her Gods. It had been a nice change to the company of the sisters, but now she was forced back into their care.

The villagers scurried away from her like mice. They had begun to speak in hushed tones about their fear of her presence and said she brought death wherever she went. When the Abbess demanded she return with them to the convent so they could find her a new place to live, she didn’t fight.

But when the grey rats came riding up to the abbey with their crosses and their anger, a fear struck into her that she hadn’t felt since the day Sven had put a knife in her gut. She tried to escape through a back door, but sister Mildreth sneered and refused to let her pass.

“We knew you were a foul beast the moment we met you, but we were deceived by your appearance and your countenance,” the Abbess huffed as the monks had dragged her from the convent screaming, the other sisters looking on impassively. 

She was overwhelmed with memories of being taken by Kjartan as they rode. The similarities brought a sharp pain to her chest when she thought about losing her nan and Gunda. But she knew there would be no moments of reprieve or friendship to save her mind this time.

The monastery where the monks took her was only a day's ride from the convent. Her captors sneered at her and called her impure, and unclean; but it was their eyes that were glued to her and their hands that skimmed her. They called her a demon of lust as they scrubbed at her exposed skin in attempt to remove the markings that adorned her. When the marks refused to dull, they called her a whore and forced her to bathe in their rituals and repent for filling them with desire for her, a godless heathen, when they had taken vows of chastity. When she told them she was blessed by Frigg and Freyja for her beauty and to apologize would be spitting on the gifts they bestowed her, the monk in a small, wheeled chair deemed her possessed by the demon Lilith and told her she would be assessed by their leader, a priest.

A day later, the sour-faced priest arrived, dripping in finery. “We must test her wickedness,” he said, “We must strip her and gaze upon her naked form, and if I, the most devout among you, feel the unholy stirrings of lust, then it will be confirmed she is surely a demon sent to tempt us to sin and ruin with her heathen ways.” 

She was horrified; not even Kjartan had stripped her and left her to be leered at by his men. Røskva spit curses at them from dusk to dawn that day until two monks, the one in the wheeled chair and the other with lustful eyes, came bearing her meal; a simple broth and water.

At the first sip of the water she knew they were attempting to silence her. The burn in her throat was crippling and persistent. The lukewarm broth was no better. The acrid taste and the burning had her overturning the tray and screaming for help, but found she could no longer make a sound beyond a whisper. She recognized the effects — they had poisoned her food and water with cuckoo-pint.

The next morning, the priest appeared with a sharp smile as she glared and spit at him, “the demon is rendered voiceless and powerless after drinking holy water! We must now see if her wickedness pervades even while rendered silent.” 

She wanted nothing more than to scream at them that she’d been poisoned, but the ability to speak was still evading her. That morning they stripped her bare and stood her on a platform, hands tied above her head. By luncheon she was found guilty of demonry and sentenced to death by hanging. A stern faced monk escorted her back to her cell to wait until nightfall when she would be executed.

As soon as the monk disappeared from view, she fell to her knees and searched the floor for the shards of pottery that the remains of her bowl had left and grabbed the candle off the table. She wasted no time, slicing into her skin and letting the blood pool on the surface before drawing runes on the floor. Once again, time crashed over her like a wave and she felt 10 winters old again. It was as if no time had passed at all. Here she was again, pleading to the Gods for her life as she paid in blood and with the small bits she could find on the floor. A stray piece of straw, a holly berry, a strip of fabric from her torn dress, and when she could find nothing else, she dropped her own blood onto the flame and begged any Gods who would listen to free her from suffering.

Her jailer came at sunset, bearing a simple, scratchy frock and a cross for her to wear around her neck. She refused to take the cross, throwing it across the room without remorse. While the monk went scrambling for the necklace, she pocketed the sharp piece of pottery. She hoped it would be enough to grant her entrance to Valhalla; she figured the Gods wouldn’t look down on her choice of weapon. 

Røskva walked to the makeshift gallows with her head held high. She couldn’t resist the urge to slash out at the priest with the shard, snarling and smiling as he cried out in pain.

“The demon is trying to take us! Don’t get too close!” He bellowed, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest as she was hoisted to stand on a barrel and the noose was tightened around her neck.

Røskva felt the shard dig into her hand as she gripped it tighter, whispering a curse to Hel upon every accursed monk and priest in the courtyard. She felt at peace as the order was given, and the barrel was pushed out from under her feet. She was too caught in her thoughts to notice the rope going slack as she lost her footing.

6. Finan

Finan was tired. Tired of travelling, tired of Alfred, tired of Uhtred running them ragged to avoid his own misery, tired of Sihtric’s silence, tired of Osferth’s fretting. He longed for his bed in Coccham and the sight of a woman naked in his bed. 

Finan wanted nothing more than to knock the sense into all of them so they could return to their own blessed homes. But he knew the emptiness of Coccham haunted Uhtred, just as Sihtric was haunted by the oath he could not keep to his little witch, especially with the weeks they were spending in Dunholm. Finan had his own oaths he failed to keep, but they were a lifetime away from him now.

Uhtred had received a summons from Alfred while they were in Dunholm with Ragnar and Brida. Finan had been grateful that Alfred hadn’t demanded their presence back in Witancaester in the 5 months since Gisela’s death, he merely sent messages and missives through Steapa who had gotten adept at finding them on the road. But Steapa said there was discord in Wessex; a Dane by the name of Bloodhair was raiding and raping in the villages across Northumbria, Wessex, and Mercia, terrorizing the small folk. 

Ragnar and Brida had warned them that Bloodhair was a shade less than sane, and a coward to boot. And the rumour was that he was in possession of a witch who killed men for fun. Finan was already dreading having to deal with them, but he was grateful to be headed back toward Wessex. The longer they lingered in Northumbria, the more unsettled he felt, and setting off toward home, Finan felt a knot in his chest he hadn’t realized was there, loosened.

But the dark cloud Finan attributed to Dunholm hung over them still as they set out at first light the next morning. Sihtric remained sullen, Uhtred remained melancholy, and Finan remained annoyed.

“Sihtric, ride ahead and find a place for us to stop tonight. Be cautious of the Christians in the area; they will not take kindly to a heathen staying on their land, even if we are in service of Alfred,” Uhtred sighed.

Sihtric gave only a nod in return before galloping away. Finan shot Osferth a look which had the monk falling back in the line silently.

“Lord, is it not good tidings to be returning to Wessex and Mercia, where they cheer for the Great Dane-Slayer, Uhtred of Bebbanburg?” Finan smirked at his friend, who shot him an unimpressed look. Finan sighed letting the joking tone go, “Uhtred, I am your friend. I know returning is not… ideal. But your children, your sister, our home? They’re all in Wessex. You got a lad you have barely seen, lord and I know…” he rambled, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I know Lady Gisela would have your arse if she was here.”

Uhtred’s eyes watered as he stared into the distance ahead of them. “I know you are right, my friend. But I do not know how to face this without her. Our children preferred her to me, as did Alfred, and I know you have been known to take her side over mine. I just… I am not sure how I am to be the Lord of Coccham without her.”

Finan smiled at his friend sadly, “Aye. She was a good woman, better than any of our sorry arses deserved to spend a minute with. But you and I both know she would beat your arse bloody if she knew you were out here hiding from your life.”

Uhtred laughed, eyes crinkling into a genuine smile and Finan felt the knot of fear loosen yet again. “You are right again, Finan,” Uhtred nodded, sighing. “Did Hild tell you what Gisela said as she faded?”

“No, lord.”

“She told her to help me find happiness, and to keep living while she awaits me in Valhalla,” Uhtred said softly.

“She was the best of us, my friend, and we will never forget her,” Finan said solemnly, making sure to look Uhtred in the eyes so he could understand the sincerity of his words. “It will be good to return, Lord. Even if it is just to collect your wee ones and take them back to Coccham with us after we deal with this hairy bloodsore.”

Uhtred’s bright laugh rang out into the silence. “His name is Bloodhair, Finan,” Osferth called from behind them.

“Aye, baby monk! I’m just makin’ a guess on what this big ugly Dane is like based on the name,” Finan called back, earning another laugh from Uhtred.

But Sihtric riding hard back toward them had the jovial mood dropping quickly as Uhtred sat higher in his saddle. “Sihtric! What is it?”

“Lord! There is a church ahead, all monks—”

“A monastery,” Osferth supplied off-handedly.

“—And they’re going to hang a woman at sundown! They have a gallows set up,” Sihtric said, eyes panicked. “Some of the village folk said she's a healer.”

“Why would they hang a woman, and a healer no less? Osferth, have you heard of this?” Uhtred asked the baby monk, eyes narrowed.

The younger man frowned, “No, lord.”

Finan watched the determination set across his friend's face, and he couldn't help but feel relieved; “Then we go and see what this is about. Alfred will want to know of a woman being executed in the Christian name,” Uhtred decided.

The ride was short, yet Finan felt like it dragged on for months. The thought of a woman being hung, Dane or not, in the name of God turned his stomach.

Finan could see the fires burning around the monastery walls as they made their way up the road. He shared nervous glances with Uhtred and Sihtric as they came to a stop in a dense thicket of trees just before the clearing. He could see the lone noose hanging from the branch of a tree swinging ominously in the light of the setting sun.

“We will wait to see what they charge her with. When they drop her, I will cut the rope, while Sihtric and Finan distract them. Osferth, you will wait until I am back on my horse with the girl and you will give the signal to the others. I will go directly south from here, and meet you in Eoferwic tomorrow,” Uhtred ordered.

Finan smirked and nodded, sharing a smirk and knowing look with Sihtric before splitting away from Osferth and Uhtred. 

He and Sihtric skirted around the monastery easily, settling on the vacant side hidden by trees and overgrown bushes. “So… What are we setting on fire?”

Sihtric scoffed and shook his head, “You are as bad as Uhtred, my friend.” Finan laughed, grinning at the younger Dane. It was easy enough to decide what to sacrifice, a small field with little chance of the fires spreading. He watched and waited, perched in the tall grass at the edge of the field, as the monks began spilling out into the courtyard. They seemed far too excited, like Danes at the first sight of blood. 

Finan didn’t see her at first; he only noticed her arrival when the monks started falling over themselves, screaming about a witch and a demon. But then he saw her — dark hair spilling down to her waist, walking toward her death with her head held high. He could not deny he was impressed by her; even more so when she slashed the arm of a priest, a wicked smile set on her face as she was hoisted off the ground, noose tied around her throat.

He found he could not look away from her as she stared ahead, eyes blazing in the fires set up in the square. Something about her was magnetic and otherworldly. Finan had to tear himself from her gaze for long enough to toss a lit branch into the field as the priest read off her list of crimes.

The first cry of alarm couldn’t have been better timed, ringing out into the night as the barrel she stood on was tipped. He saw the glint of a sword and the woman disappeared.

[persephones-journey]

Love Scratches

This was inspired (caused by) @itbmojojoejo and @gemini-mama comments on an incredibly beautiful and perfect gif set of Finan that Mojo created.

It's all their fault.

Finan/You (Reader) Enjoy!

The rain was coming down slowly and softly, running down the windows. The dark clouds caused an otherwise sunny day to become broody and grey.

But you didn't care.

You sat in the lap of your boyfriend, lover, best friend, Finan. He rested his head on the back of the couch and was giving you a soft smile as you scratched your nails against his beard. Your nails scraped along his cheeks, going down to his neck as you moved up and leaned in.

“I have been aching to kiss ya,” he whispered as he leaned in as well, expecting your lips on his.

A soft smile graced your lips as you leaned in as well. At the last moment, before your lips would touch his, you pulled away and pressed a feather soft kiss to his nose. He groaned and you laughed as you felt his fingers poke and pinch your sides.

“Such a tease,” he muttered.

You hummed and moved, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I am your tease, though,” you whispered as you moved and pressed another kiss to his temple.

He sighed. “Aye, ya are,” he muttered.

You looked at him as he closed his dark eyes. You took the opportunity to place soft kisses on each of his eyes. You felt his hands rubbing your sides and your back.

Love filled you. You wanted to shower him with the same love he always showed you.

So, you placed more kisses along his face; his forehead, his cheeks, his temples. You pressed another kiss to his nose and began to scratch his beard again. He sighed and you felt his body relax.

It was what you wanted.

“Gods, woman, I love you,” he muttered softly as he let his fingers dance under your shirt to brush your skin of your sides.

“My name is not woman,” you muttered as you gently tugged on his beard.

He opened his eyes and gave you a wink. “Ya are right,” he muttered. “Ya name is my woman.”

You groaned but smirked. Finally, you leaned in and let your lips brush his. He sighed and grabbeed your hips, pulling you closer.

“And your name is my man,” you whispered before pressing your lips fully against his.

The kiss was soft and gentle. Neither of you wished for it to be sexual. It was just a moment between lovers; a soft, comforting moment.

You moved your lips from his, kissing the corners of his mouth as you raked your fingers through his hair. He hummed softly and sighed as you pressed soft kisses along his jaw.

“I needed this,” he muttered as you moved off his lap. You sat beside him and he immediately moved, pressing his face in your chest. You stroked his hair with one hand as you continued to scratch his beard with the other. “I just need to stay here with ya for a bit,” he added.

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “Stay as long as you need to,” you whispered.

[charmedimsure]

Fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Female Character(s), Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Character(s) Summary:

As Aethelwold's childhood friend and current unofficial babysitter, Lina is sent to Northumbria to help aid Uhtred of Bebbanburg with his fight against the Danish brothers Erik and Sigefrid. As the journey becomes longer than she anticipated, Lina finds herself getting rather distracted by one of Uhtred's men.

I’ve started a Last Kingdom fic on ao3 and I’m proud of it so far so feel free to check it out!

And yes, I do have the best username on ao3

[thethyri]

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

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

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

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

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

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

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

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

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

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

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

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

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

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

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

            Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Lord !”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “We ride!” then hailed Uhtred. 

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

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

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

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

            Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

            Wulfwynn felt cradled. 

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

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

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

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

            And an ache clutched at her chest.  

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

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

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

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

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

            Cynefrith was not there. 

            Eadgyth was not there.

            They were not here.

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

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

            “Lass?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Wintanceaster, Lady.”

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

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

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

            Then her stomach rumbled.

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri​​. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gifs rightfully belong to @dailytlk.

[ladyinred2248]

Well, I finished my Part 12 of my King of the North series! It will be posted hopefully today or tomorrow. So I guess that’s a win; I did get some writing done after all! I planned for Part 12 to be the ending, because I know my interaction on that fic is very low. Well 🤣 there’s too much to cover for that to be the ending. So we’ll see. Thanks to those of you who keep supporting!

It has still been my pride and joy fic — where I can explore my creativity and my love for Finan and TLK, no matter how much it waxes and wanes. I’ve let go of perfectionism and just let it ride. After all, it’s the fun of it that counts, right?

Hehe love you all 💕

[csigeoblue]

Amongst the Chaos - Finan x fem!Reader (The Last Kingdom fic)

Disclaimer: obvi don’t own any material for The Last Kingdom. I struggled with writing this or not cause I’m not usually good at period pieces so wish me luck 😆

______________________

The sound of many hooves and yells awoke you from your slumber unexpectedly setting your entire being on high alert and double as much once you saw Finan had not made it home yet. You sprung up out of bed and peered out the window to see the commotion.

Men on horseback dropping pieces of fire onto any houses close enough to their path.

You grabbed your knife as a last resort for protection.

As quickly and quietly as you could, you snuck out of the back of your house and said a prayer in hopes it would still be standing after this night. You had to find Sihtric’s brood and make sure they were all alright.

On the other side of the village, Finan jolted awake at the table he’d been drinking with Uhtred and Sihtric when he heard an arrow land close to him. To his surprise, it was on fire then he refocused and could hear the chaos going on around him.

His main priority was to find you and figure out what the hell was going on.

The trio quickly jumped into the fray outside. Swords clashing with the strangers dressed like Danes. The floor was wet from the rain earlier that night making it slippery as they fought.

“Y/n!” Shouted Finan.

“She’s not here. Must have gone after Sigeflead” Sihtric offered as he took his sword out of another man’s chest in order to keep moving. Finan grunted in acknowledgment as his opponent fell to his knees too.

“Aye she’s probably counting all your babes.”

It didn’t make him feel better to jest. You had grit that’s for sure but not a warrior by any means. You were a farmer through and through could grow anything anywhere with your skills. A gap in the path thru the fighting gave them enough of an opening to cover more ground and run to Sihtric’s just down the road in the direction the invaders likely came from.

You made it to Sihtric’s door and tried to catch your breath. The smoke in the air made it hard to see in front of you. For a moment you got caught up looking at the destruction around you when someone opened the door and pulled you inside by the collar of your night dress.

“What do we have ere, eh?” A man with a shaved head and dark look in his eye gave you the once over. To your surprise, this man had company… Sigeflaed and her four young children huddled in a corner. When your eyes met, she face hardened with a slight nod.

“Let them go. You only need one of us to have some fun.” You looked back at your captor hoping he’d consider it. He smirked at you and paused pretending to think it over.

Abruptly he threw you to the floor in the opposite direction of Sigeflaed. The fall hurt and your head bounced on the chair there but it was the perfect distraction.

“Siggy, now!”

Sigeflaed rushed the man from behind to throw him off balance as the oldest of the children led the rest outside. You slid your knife out of its sheath and slashed as quickly as you could towards both his ankles. With a shout, he threw Siggy out the open door and fell to his knees.

You stumbled onto your feet towards the door but he latched onto your ankle and pulled you down. As you went down you looked up and saw what you hoped was Finan’s figure in the distance.

“FINAN!”

His eyes widen as he saw you fall and call out his name. He shouted back “I’m Here!” and pushed himself faster to get to you when he saw the reason you fell. A man maneuvered himself over you and started choking you. Fínan’s blood boiled.

“Oi, get your hands off her”

He swung his sword around swiping at both forearms of your assailant causing him to loosen his grip on you. The man screamed in pain while you took deep panicked breaths gently soothing your neck. You kicked the man on the floor as Sihtric made a move to end him. Finan took you in his arms.

“Moh gra, I’m here.”

“Love, I’m alright.” Though it pained you to get the words out. You were grateful it was over.

[errruvande]

I'm sorry but already can say the second part is gonna be the hottest fire I have ever read like DAMN

I can only dream of writing smut like that, it's so unbelievably fucking hot and smooth 🥵🥵🥵

And for gods sake being eaten out by both Sihtric and Finan? YES PLEASE 😭😭😭

"Figure You Out - Part One" - Sihtric x Whore!Reader x Finan

A/N my first reader fic for The Last Kingdom fandom! Still got to have both my boys though :) Part two is HERE

Summary: Finan decides that Sihtric needs to learn how to please a woman. He takes him to see a brothel worker and is then convinced to join in!

TW: Whore reader. Virgin Sihtric. Ladies man Finan. Light dom reader. Light fem dom. Oral sex (f recieving). Fingering (f recieving). Implied m/m. Finan is a hands on teacher. Multiple orgasms.

Word count: 1,702

Taglist: @gemini-mama @valeskafics

It had been a slow evening in the Inn when you were approached by a tall, dark haired man you recognized as one of Lord Uhtred's top warriors, Finan you thought his name was. The smirking Irishman pressed a handful of coins into your hands, enough to pay for the whole night and then some. 

“The lad needs to learn how to properly please a woman.” Finan said while nodding his head at a younger man at his back. He flashed you a wink before he reached back and dragged the other warrior forward. 

You gave the lad a once over, please by what you saw. He was of a height with Finan but slimmer in the shoulders, with well muscled arms which he bared with a sleeveless tunic. He was clearly a Dane, with his hair pulled back in braids across the top of his head and the pewter hammer hanging around his neck, but you didn't mind. He looked up at you through his eyes and you glimpsed the most beautiful set of eyes you had ever seen. His right eye was a warm brown while his left eye was a pale blue, they shone with nervousness but you could see the excitement peaking through.

“Will you be joining us to ensure he is adequately taught?” You teased looking back at the dark haired Irishman, not at all put off by the idea of having them both. Finan had a reputation of treating the girls well and virgins were usually so much fun to play with. It didn't hurt that the young Dane was exceptionally beautiful and you knew you would enjoy the experience of teaching him.

Sihtric could feel your gaze burning into the flushed skin of his face as the two men shared a look. He wasn't repulsed by the idea of Finan accompanying them, of the older man watching, helping, Sihtric had approached him for advice after all. A  silent conversation passed between them, an arch of Finan brown in question before the young Dane nodded his consent with a shrug. 

Sihtric ignored how the heat already coiled in his gut burned brighter as Finan flashed him a cheeky wink before the Irishman turned to look back at you. “Yeah alright, gotta make sure he does it properly, don't I?”

You reached your hand out towards Sihtric and after a moment's hesitation he took it in his, mindful of how soft and delicate your hand felt in his, rough with scars and years of handling a weapon. You smiled encouragingly at him before you introduced yourself and asked for his name. 

“I'm Sihtric, miss,” he answered, voice soft and gentle as he met your gaze shyly. 

You were the most beautiful woman Sihtric had ever laid eyes on. Your hair was tied back away from your face with a few stands loose to dance around your shoulders. Your dress hugged your form perfectly and left little to the imagination, pushing your breasts up and he couldn't help but think they would be the perfect handful.

But his favourite feature had to be your eyes. Your eyes were bright and expressive with long lashes that framed them perfectly, shining with mischief as you led the two men up the stairs to your room.

He couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open as you unlaced your bodice and exposed your breasts to their hungry eyes before you pulled your overdress over your head and dropped it in a heap on the floor before sitting on the edge of the bed. You leaned back on your hands and enjoyed having their undivided attention. You loved bringing men to their knees.

You tapped a foot on the floor. “On your knees boys.”

You watched with hooded eyes as Sihtric knelt on the floor with barely restrained eagerness, Finan close behind but with much more poise. You knew this was not the first time the Irishman had found himself on his knees in the bedroom. The other girl always had lots of stories about Uhtred's second in command, that he was a very giving lover and, if the stories were true, incredibly talented with his mouth. 

Your core throbbed and you grew wet at the thought of putting that mouth to use but tonight was about the young Dane currently crawling his way between your spread legs. His inexperience was obvious as he began pressing sweet, hesitant kisses up the skin of your inner thigh, long fingers shaking as they worked your underdress up inch by inch as he went. 

By the time he had worked your dress up around your waist you were soaked, your cunt and inner thighs slick with the proof of your arousal. 

Confronted with the sight of your wet cunt the young Dane lost his nerve and looked over his shoulder at his friend for assistance. Finan pressed himself to Sihtric's back and hooked his chin over the Dane's shoulder. 

“What a pretty sight” He growled, his eyes were dark, pupils blown with arousal as they moved over your exposed flesh. 

You licked your lower lip slowly and flashed him a smirk when his gaze met yours. You cocked an eyebrow in challenge, taunting the Irishman to show what he knows.

The older man's brow furrowed before he wrapped himself tighter around the younger man and began his lesson. “Just gotta touch her a little, warm her up for yer cock.” He told the younger man, reaching out with one hand to demonstrate.

You threw your head back with a gasp as two thick fingers slid through your soaking folds, gathering the wetness there and using it to slick the way for him to push them inside you. You opened for him so easy, with a breathless moan as the stretch relieved the ache that had begun to throb through your core. They way they moved together, pressing against your inner walls perfectly, brushing against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

Finan curled his fingers inside so they pressed harder against that perfect spot and your mouth feel open on a whine. His thumb rubbed slow circles around your nub, the pleasure building heat in your core, stroking the flames higher and higher. You were so wet and dripping that his fingers made a wet squelching sound each time he pulled them back to the tip before he plunged them back between your folds. You were moaning continuously when Finan pulled his hand away and you whined at the momentary pause in your pleasure. 

He chuckled deeply as he grabbed one of Sihtric's hands and guided it between your trembling thighs to take his place. “Your turn, boy.”

The way Finan kept himself wrapped around Sihtric made for a very enticing sight and you wondered what they would look like wrapped up together, bare of their armour and clothing, their battle hardened bodies pressed together. The picture in your mind and the way Sihtric worked between your thighs, just as Finan had shown him, unexpectedly pushed you to what you knew would only be the first orgasm of the night.

You lost all strength in your arms and found yourself fully on your back as you shuddered and moaned as Sihtric diligently kept his fingers thrusting inside of you at Finan's insistence. Drawing your pleasure out until you were reduced to a trembling, whining mess.

You had barely come down or caught your breath when Finan gave his next command to the young Dane. 

“Give her cunt a kiss,” he commanded the other man, guiding him down with a hand on the back of Sihtric's head.

Sihtric didn't hesitate to get his mouth on you, soft and sweet at first, with gentle kisses and soft licks as he tasted your release, cleaning some of the slick from your inner thighs and between your folds. He groaned against your skin and doubled down, attacking you with lips and tongue. He was a natural as he licked and sucked, devouring your cunt like he was a man starving. Finan whispered advice from over his back, voice deep and raspy with his arousal. 

You struggled to push yourself back upright on your elbows so you didn't miss a single moment. You watched as Sihtric pressed his arse back against the hard line of the Irishman's cock, the lad whining desperately against your cunt when he was confronted with the proof of his friend's arousal. You smirked at how clearly the poor boy wanted to get fucked. An idea formed in your mind, one you hoped you could sweet talk the two men into.

Your mind wiped clean as Sihtric sunk two fingers back into your dripping wet core and crooked them just right. No matter how his body begged for his friend he stayed focused on you and kept his mouth working on your core, making the pleasure build again. You gasped out encouragement and praise until you peaked a second time with a drawn out moan, head thrown back and shuddering as he kept lapping at you, soft and wet, drinking down your release until you pushed his head away with a breathless laugh.

Both men slid back on their heels and gave you space to recouver this time, which you needed as you found yourself sprawled on your back again with your whole body weak and trembling from the strength of your second orgasm. 

You panted up at your ceiling as your heart rate slowed and you collected yourself. As fast a learner as the Dane was proving to be you still had knowledge to impart.

You rolled yourself over onto your hands and knees and crawled further up the bed, giving your arse a good shake for good measure, feeling both sets of eyes on you.

“Take your clothes off Sihtric,'' you commanded over your shoulder and smiled as the man was quick to obey, revealing a lithe, well muscled body, spotted with the occasional scar, signs of his life as a warrior. You pulled your underdress over your head, baring yourself complerely to the two warriors before you settled yourself on your back against the pillows and spread your legs invitingly. “Come here.”

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Little Seer

Pairing: Sihtric x reader(female) x Finan

Authors note: there was something in the air again 😅 Brainstorming and writing together with the talented and amazing @little-diable is an absolute pleasure. Thank you so much for co-writing this little story with me! 💖💖💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+, a bit of angst, the usual things

Summary: as if being Skade's sister wasn't challenge enough, you are faced with an impossible choice between two warriors, competing over your heart

Word Count: 4,8 K

You closed your eyes and inhaled the cool, crisp morning air. A fleeting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted toward you, evoking a vivid memory of work-worn hands kneading dough on a high table, so tall that your nose barely reached its surface.

"Go fetch your sister," a soft voice urged, and you giggled as a finger touched your nose, leaving a white flour mark on it.

"Skade, Skade, where are you? Mom is baking bread," you called out cheerfully, your voice ringing through the yard like a bright, joyful stream. Your small feet carried you from one building to the next.

"Shhh, what are you doing? Stop yelling! You just scared all my spirits away," an irritated hiss made you freeze in your tracks as your lively, smiling eyes met two stormy, piercing blue ones. Your face twisted into a mocking grimace as you stuck out your tongue at your sister. Her giggle was soft and sparkling, reminiscent of a tiny bell's chime, as she took your hand and you both skipped joyfully back to the house.

Long before the big wooden gates of Dunholm creaked open to welcome the small traveling party, you had already known she was approaching Dunholm. The runes never lied to you. Bound by the same blood and the same divine gift, your destinies were intricately woven together in a delicate tapestry of love and hate. You knew you couldn’t escape each other and  no matter how hard you tried to defy this fate, you had always failed.

Your palm tightened around the shaft of the Nithstang you had crafted tonight, wet and sticky with the warm blood dripping down your fingers, as you forced your eyes open. Your steps, steady and resolute, carried you to the small paddock across the inner yard, now a makeshift prison.

"Release him!" Your voice, edged with a metallic tone, carried a hint of the anger simmering deep within you. Something stirred in the shadows at the back, and a silhouette began to move closer to the bars. Two familiar, deep pools of dazzling blue met your gaze.

"You know I won't," a challenge danced on the plush lips curved into a smirk. "You should know me better by now, little sis."

"Don't make me use my power against you," you warned, your breath forming small clouds of mist as you spoke, casting a shimmering, translucent veil over your sister's face and giving it a mysterious glow.

"You wouldn't dare," Skade smirked, tilting her head defiantly.

"You leave me no choice," you replied, not with anger but with a surge of resolve. With a loud cry, you swung the Nithstang high into the air, driving it deep into the ground to face the place where your sister was imprisoned.

Your love for her was deeply rooted in every fibre of your being, yet you despised the monster she had become, transformed by power-hungry men who sought to use her for their own ascension. It was this profound care for her, this need to protect her even from herself, that had driven you to carve the ancient runes into the wood under the cover of night. The power of love was stronger than the power of hate, yet your sister, as mighty as she might be, still failed to recognize this simple truth.

Fear and caution had long been your constant companions, often mingled with respect, but genuine fascination and appeal seldom visited your life. You struggled to suppress your smile as you constantly felt two pairs of eyes almost burning into your back each time when you turned away.

The dark brown eyes exuded warmth, strength, and protectiveness, creating a comforting presence that seemed to envelop you each time you entered the great hall. The peculiar, mismatched eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, radiating a sense of possessiveness. They darted around the room, absorbing every detail, as if laying claim to every word you spoke and every move you made.

An Irish-accented voice, rich and booming, reached you near the stream just as you were about to lift the heavy buckets brimming with water. "May I help you?"

"Thank you, that's very kind," you replied with a smile, watching the sturdy, well-built Irishman effortlessly lift your load and nod for you to lead the way.

To break the somewhat awkward silence, you inquired, "How's Lord Uhtred?"

"He's well, thanks to you, lady. On the way here, I had my doubts he'd even make it," the warrior replied, his voice thick with genuine worry and care. The soothing quality of his words made you turn and cast a warm smile back at him while noticing his shoulders straighten and his eyes light up with a friendly glow.

Having seen him spar before, it was clear that beneath his somewhat soft and pappy shell lay a core of steel, marked by agility and resolve.

"Lady, I was looking for you..." greeted a cheerful voice accompanied by a bright smile at the steps before your hut. "I... I was riding out the horses, and there, in the meadow, I thought of you when I saw these," stammered the young, handsome Dane, revealing a bouquet of wildflowers he had been hiding behind his back. His gaze quickly shifted to his feet.

The bouquet was not a mere haphazard cluster; it was artfully arranged—a vibrant swirl of colours with bright yellow flowers at the centre, gently transitioning to soft pink and white ones around the edges, framed by green leaves.

"They are beautiful, thank you so much, Sihtric," you said, your eyes widening in surprise. Your fingers lightly brushed against his as you accepted the flowers, inhaling their sweet scent. A muffled scoff from behind made you bury your face deeper into the bouquet to hide your amused smirk upon seeing Finan roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Lady, let me..." Sihtric hurriedly ascended the few steps and swung the door open for you, you stepped inside and Sihtric followed you, letting the door close just before Finan could enter. You turned to him with a surprised smile and, hearing Finan’s disgruntled curse behind the door, Sihtric quickly opened it again to let in the visibly annoyed Irishman.

"Please put the buckets there," you directed, pointing to a wooden bench in the corner while turning to fetch a vase for the flowers from the cupboard.

The sound of shuffling feet and muffled murmurs behind you indicated that both warriors were hesitant to leave. As you turned to face them, Finan spoke first, "I... I placed the buckets on the bench... I..." He scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting around the room, seemingly searching for something to say.

"Oh, your door is half ajar; it needs fixing," Sihtric suddenly exclaimed. "I'll fetch some tools and be right back."

"You've never held a hammer and nail in your life, you don’t even know what they look like, and now you want to pretend you can fix a door?" Finan scoffed, clearly upset he hadn’t noticed the issue first.

Sihtric hurried off to fetch the tools, leaving Finan behind, still bristling from the earlier mishap and determined not to be outdone by the young Dane. “I can fix that just fine without his help,” Finan muttered, eyeing the slightly ajar door as if it were a direct challenge to his capabilities.

When Sihtric returned, he clumsily carried a bundle of tools wrapped in cloth. Finan was already examining the door, squinting critically. “Here, let me show you how it’s done,” Sihtric announced with a confident swagger, setting the bundle down with a thud.

The two warriors stood side by side, peering at the assortment of tools, which included a couple of misshapen awls and a few worn hammers. “This one looks about right,” Sihtric said, picking up an awl with an uncertain glance.

“That’s not how you hold it, give it here,” Finan scoffed, snatching the tool and holding it upside down. You watched, amused, as they fumbled, each trying to outdo the other with bravado that was clearly unfounded.

“Here, you need to tighten the hinges,” Sihtric suggested.

“No, the alignment’s off. It needs a new hole,” Finan countered, eyeing the frame as if he could will it into compliance.

Sihtric attempted to use a hammer, gently tapping around the hinge as if coaxing it to tighten by itself. Meanwhile, Finan, now wielding an awl, tried to carve a new hole in the wood, his efforts resulting in a crooked and unnecessary indentation.

The result was a door that hung even more awkwardly than before. 

“You know, maybe we should just ask the carpenter in the village,” Sihtric finally conceded, stepping back to examine their handiwork, which looked worse than when they started.

Finan, though reluctant to admit defeat, nodded in agreement. “Let’s just say woodworking isn’t our calling,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their earnest but bungled efforts, appreciating the entertainment, if not the craftsmanship. “I think that’s wise,” you agreed, still smiling. “But thank you both for trying. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Everything went quiet suddenly, with just shy glances and nervous shuffling of feet filling the air. It was getting awkward, but it was obvious neither warrior wanted to leave. The question in their eyes was so clear and so charming that this time, you couldn't help but let a grin slip.

Their fondness for you was apparent, neither attempting to conceal it, as they'd been playfully fighting for your attention for a week now, and you'd be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. The two warriors were as different as fire and water, their contrasting energies sparking against each other with every word and gesture. 

You really appreciated how Finan always looked out for you, always there to lend a hand, careful and attentive. His support was rock solid, his eyes always warm, and he never missed a chance to gently tease you.

Then there was Sihtric, with his wild, spontaneous streak that drew you in just as much. He’d show up at all sorts of odd times with flowers, or suddenly appear at your hut with a huge smile and a basket full of goodies, just because he’d found the perfect spot on a nearby hill to catch the sunset. No matter how tired you were, his laughter and sheer joy were contagious, always managing to sweep you up in another adventure.

Both warriors truly brightened up your life, even helping you momentarily forget the deep worry your sister's presence constantly evoked. As time passed, it was clear Uhtred was committed to his decision to stay with his brother, which only seemed to make the boys more hopeful whenever they looked your way. But what really amazed you was something quite rare, something you hadn’t seen before—even with their ongoing competition for your attention, their friendship didn’t waver—not even a bit.

They were both waiting for you to make a choice between them. And honestly, as much as you wanted to decide, making up your mind just seemed impossible.

Stars were twinkling in the sky as you rolled your head back, letting the river run through your hair as you took your bath. Darkness wrapped itself around you like a veil, hidden from the drunken men you didn’t want to cross paths with, the nosy fighters who’d give a lot for a good look at your naked frame. 

Your body had ached as you found your way down to the river, desperate for some moments alone, away from the confusion of being close to Sihtric and Finan pushed through you and the confusion your sister managed to push through your veins with every rising of the sun. It was a steady back and forth you should be all too used to by now. 

“Here’s good!” The raspy voice echoed through the air, dripping with his Irish accent while forcing your eyes away from the sky to watch the two men walk closer. For a moment, you didn’t move, letting your curious eyes watch the two as you waited for them to notice you. But Finan and Sihtric kept undressing, not picking up on your closeness just now.

“It’s not very honourable of you to disturb a woman’s bath, now is it?” Humour flushed through you as you spoke the word, chasing the protection the dark water offered. Only your head and throat were visible, hiding the body both Finan and Sihtric had been imagining the past days, chasing highs with their minds solemnly focused on you. 

“Apologies, lady.” SIhtric stumbled over his words, drawing a loud laugh from you as you kept on watching them. 

“Would you mind some company?” It was a bold question the Irishman asked, knowing that this could take an ugly turn. Perhaps it was the mead flushing through your system, perhaps it was the thrilling coldness of the river, whatever it was, it forced your mouth open once again, giving room to your words rolling off your tongue. 

“If you can behave, I wouldn’t mind your company, no.” The hum leaving Finan seemed to snap Sihtric out of his trance, averting his gaze as the two kept undressing. For some more seconds, you allowed yourself to study their muscular frames, a sight that left you trembling with heat pooling between your thighs before you eventually let your eyes wander back up to the sky. 

“It’s a beautiful sight, aye.” Finan’s voice wrapped itself around you as he moved closer, marvelling at the starry sky. Even though you kept your eyes focused on the sky, you couldn’t help but focus on the heat he emanated – a heat that only grew stronger as Sihtric also stepped towards you. “But we are fortunate men, us two, we don’t have to look that far for a beautiful sight.”

The words left you laughing, unable to bite down your smile as you turned towards the two men. Mischief was swimming in their pupils, it seemed as if whatever back-and-forth they had felt between one another had found some end, a compromise perhaps. Whatever it was, it drew them even closer, giving you the chance to pull away before overstepping any boundaries 

“Others may no longer respect your honour if they see you here with us, lady.” Sihtric’s husky voice was about to draw a moan out of you, reminding you of the words you had imagined them to speak as you had chased your high just this morning, thinking of these two warriors now caging you between their bodies. 

“And why is that?” Slowly, you rose, exposing your naked chest to Finan, who was standing in front of you. You felt Sihtric tugging himself against your back, with his tensed abs pressing into your soft skin, with his hardening cock pressed against your behind. An unfamiliar heat took over, guiding your every moment – you were about to slip up, about to give in while your mind was silenced. And for the first time, you were alright with letting go, diving head-first into an adventure you had been dreaming of for days. 

Sihtric’s hands found your waist, keeping you pressed to him as Finan’s warm hand cupped your cheek. You could feel their breaths teasing your skin, making you feel as if you were their sacrifice, one with the fire they were about to toss you into, leaving you trembling and aching – all because of them. 

“Once you lose your honour to us, we won’t let you go again, little lady.” You scoffed at the nickname Finan used for you, a sound that was turned into a moan as Sihtric’s fingers danced down your stomach, finding their way to your pulsing bundle. The moan that clawed through you had nothing human-like to it, torn between a warrior’s cry and an animalistic growl. A sound so sinful, you felt both men chuckle; a chuckle of victory; a chuckle of excitement. 

Tonight you were theirs. Tonight you wouldn’t break free from their grasp. Not tonight. 

“Oh, gods.” The words clawed through you as Sihtric’s fingers began to move in circular motions, rubbing your bundle of nerves just enough to make the hairs at the back of your neck rise. It felt as if you were trapped by some kind of spell, chaining you to these two men who explored your body with their lips. Finan’s beard scratched your skin as he kissed your throat, dipping his head down to find your hardening nipples, all while Sihtric’s teeth teased the spot where your shoulder met your neck. 

“No gods will answer your prayers tonight, pretty lady. For now, you’re ours to play with.” Sihtric’s raspy words were about to push you over the edge, chasing your release without feeling either one of them buried deep inside of you yet. You were desperate for more, torn between different sensations that left you trembling and aching for more. 

“I want you, please.” It was pathetic almost how needy you were, too far in to pick up on the sly grin tugging on Finan’s lips, wordlessly communicating with Sihtric. 

“How do you want us?” Finan’s lips teased yours, not kissing you fully, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But nothing could pull you from these two, not tonight at least. Sihtric tightened his grip on you as you kept quiet, adding more pressure to his moving fingers, toying with your pulsing bundle. 

“Speak when you’re asked to, don’t play any games.” You choked on your gasps at Sihtric’s demanding command, leaving you shuddering between them. 

“Both of you, I don’t care how, I just need you.” Within moments you were shifted around, pressed down on a nearby stone to balance your body as Finan positioned himself behind you. You were close to passing out, letting your racing heart guide you as your glassy eyes wandered down Sihtric’s muscular front, straight to his twitching cock. The Dane positioned himself in front of you, fingers pulling your hair together to draw your mouth closer to him. 

“Who are we to deny a pretty lady’s wish, huh?” Finan pushed into you without another warning, tearing another moan from you that was silenced by Sihtric’s cock. Your mouth engulfed him, lips wrapped around his tip to suck on him. His taste stuck to your tongue, a taste you’d forever remember, just like the feeling of Finan finally fucking you. The Irishman didn’t grant you any mercy, he fucked you as if the Devil himself was chasing him, a sensation so strong your walls kept fluttering around him.

“What a devilish mouth for such a sweet seer.” Sihtric’s praises shot shudders down your spine and drew sounds from you that vibrated on his cock as he pushed further down your throat. You were close to seeing stars, close to letting the darkness that called your name swallow you. Tonight you didn’t care about what may happen to you. Tonight you didn’t care about losing yourself to these two handsome warriors. Tonight you were simply theirs. 

“You feel divine, lady.” Finan groaned his words as he fucked you even deeper, pressed down on the cold stone that would surely leave its marks on your body. This night would leave its bruises on you, bruises you’d forever remember, while silently hoping that they’d leave some more on your body in the upcoming days and weeks. 

Tears ran down your warm cheeks, tears of desperation and lust, drawn from your eyes by the feeling of Sihtric’s cock nudging your throat, by the feeling of Finan’s calloused fingertips rubbing your overstimulated bundle, pushing you over the edge within moments. 

Finan fucked you through your high as Sihtric groaned your name, painting your tongue and cheeks white with his release. You didn’t dare break eye contact with the handsome Dane as you swallowed, not even as you felt Finan stain your behind with his cum. It was a moment so intimate that you were sure neither Finan nor Sihtric could ever forget about it, just like you. 

The three of you were heavily panting as silence wrapped itself around you, drawing a laugh out of you as you rose back to your feet. You couldn’t help but shake your head as you studied the two for another moment, trying to accept what had just happened. 

“What’s so funny, lady?” Finan pulled you against his broad chest, grinning in success as you clung to him, wordlessly telling the two that you weren’t planning on running anytime soon. 

“I’m just happy, I think.” Your eyes wandered towards Sihtric, grinning at the man who looked at you as if you had hung up the stars in the sky yourself, a true masterpiece only a few were fortunate enough to take in. 

“We won’t let you go again, we stay true to our words.” As much as you wanted to give in, to let this dream suck you into its grasp for some more moments, you couldn’t, breaking out of your hazy trance. Carefully you stepped away from Finan to sink back into the cold water, cleaning yourself for one last time that evening. 

“Don’t make any promises, Irishman. You don’t know what’s coming upon us, it will be cruel, guided by my sister’s hands.”

The clang of weapons and the wild shouts from the crowd echoed off the walls of Dunholm, deafening you with the force of a thunderstorm. You had always been certain of the foolishness and recklessness of men, yet they continued to surprise you.

Your decision to serve Ragnar was based on his ability to listen and consider matters without letting emotions cloud his judgement—a rare trait among men. But this time was different.

Your eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of Skade at the far end of the square. How had you missed it? Distracted by a fuzzy haze of love and admiration, you hadn't noticed the spider spinning its web behind you, the viper weaving its venom into the hearts of men. Now, you were forced to watch as arrogance and false pride shattered the fragile peace you had so carefully helped to nurture.

"Are you satisfied? Do you really think this will bring you anything?" you hissed into Skade's ear.

"I’ve won, little sister. I always win, whatever it takes. There’s no turning back. Uhtred is mine. He will come to rule all Danes and Saxons; he’s been born to lead. I’ve seen that. And I'll rise with him. He's bound to me, and there's nothing you can do about it," she whispered back, her words slicing through you like the sharpest knife, reopening old wounds you had struggled to heal.

“This is no game, Skade. Stop this madness. You’ve gone too far. You took a life that wasn’t yours to claim, just to replace her. This will have consequences, and you know it. Release him and stay here with me. Please, sister,” you pleaded, knowing deep down it was likely futile, but you had to try.

There was a subtle shuffle of feet before your sister finally turned to face you. Your pleading gaze met her icy stare, the chill from her eyes almost freezing your words in midair.

“Did you enjoy the company of those two fools, calling themselves warriors?” she asked coldly, her chin lifting slightly as she tilted her head to the right, scrutinising you through her long lashes. “Tell those two hounds to stay behind, or if they're foolish enough to follow their master, tell them not to interfere with me. You know better than anyone what happens to those who get in my way.”

You couldn’t remember how you got home, the sound of the door, shutting behind you with a loud thud as you slammed your back against the gnarled wood, startling you. You slid down the door to the floor, elbows on your knees, cradling your head in your hands.

Sobs wracked your body, starting quietly and gradually becoming louder and uncontrollable, until you threw back your head, releasing a loud, desperate cry that tore through you. Yes, you knew all too well what happened when someone interfered with your sister. You knew the agony of feeling like your heart was being ripped from your chest, leaving a wound that wouldn't heal, a wound that lingered for years.

She had taken everything from you once, and without a moment’s hesitation, she would do it again. Of that, you were certain.

"Come with us," Finan urged, his large, rough palm reaching out for yours while his thumb gently traced circles on your skin.

"We will care for you, protect you," Sihtric added, his two-coloured eyes searching for yours, but you stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. You pulled your hands away from Finan’s gentle grip and, needing something to occupy them, began nervously adjusting and straightening your clothes. You shook your head, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

"Stay here, both of you, stay with me," you countered, finally lifting your head, your eyes pleading as they moved between Sihtric and Finan.

Silence stretching between you, Finan stepped forward first. He enveloped you in a strong embrace, his arms a fortress that for a brief moment, warded off what was about to come. As he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, and he leaned in to place a tender, lingering kiss on your lips

Sihtric, his expression a complex tapestry of regret and resolve, moved closer. His farewell was quieter, more restrained, as if he feared that any show of passion might crumble his resolve. He took your hands in his, holding them between you both, his gaze finally locking with yours. Slowly, he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Words were superfluous; everything that needed to be said shimmered in the air around you, poignant and bittersweet.

“Be careful. Don’t underestimate my sister,” you finally broke the silence, “She can turn Uhtred against you.”

You saw the disbelief in their eyes and sighed deeply. “You have no idea of what she is capable of. This is just the beginning.”

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[ms-oswald]

homesick | introduction

author's note: back with another mini-Finan series. This time this is set in the TLK era and will include fluff-ish, smut-ish (18+ MDNI) and of course - angsty moments. Not much actions but hopefully, this will still be enjoyable for the intrigued. If you are interested and want to be part of the taglist, please let me know! A massive thank you to @persephones-journey for being my soundboard and helping me out 💕

Main Characters: Finan x Kára (OC) Length: 7 chapters

Summary: A series of cherished encounters between Finan, Uhtred’s second in command, and Kára, an unsettled and restless shield-maiden – her path dictated by the whims of Mother Nature while he remains true to his calling. An unlikely friendship forms as they live on opposite sides, their kindled flame bright and consuming to every conjured touch while forever wondering if such fire will burn out amongst the rubble crumbling over their years apart. 

CHAPTERS - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

Lots of love & stay safe 💕

banners credit to @arcielee

Playlist under the cut

[spider-stark]

WHERE LOVE LIES

Finan the Agile x Reader

Summary - Abandoned by your lover, you turn to closest friend for comfort.

Warnings - fem!reader, platonic, abandonment issues, self-destructive behavior, mentions of blood/injury/slavery, will probably deviate from canon at times

Word Count - 1.4k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

A metallic tang clings to your tongue, having chewed your nails to the point of ruin. How long has it been? Since you first began to drown in the insufferable sound of your own footsteps, pacing along the floor of what was meant to be your shared guest room at Lady Aethelflaed’s estate. 

The minute’s feel like hours—or perhaps the opposite is true. Time seems to melt and blur, reality distorted by the most awful, unavoidable truth. 

Sihtric is gone. 

Something crumples in your chest. You stumble over nothing, barely reaching out in time to catch yourself. Bloodstained fingers curl around carved wood, gripping the footboard of a bed that’s much too big for only one person. You stare at it—at the absurd number of plush feather pillows, all neatly stacked atop thick furs.

Aethelflaed had done this on purpose. Given you and Sihtric the guest room with the biggest, nicest bed. The kindness of a friend, now turned to salt in an open wound. 

Sihtric caused this. This yawning chasm inside of you, an emptiness that threatens to swallow you whole. He caused this. 

Tears sting the back of your throat. Blur your vision.  

The walls start to cave in. Begin crumbling around you. 

You whirl towards the door, unwilling to be trapped in this room for even a second longer. 

Antique sconces line the hallway, their dim flames fighting to stave off the thick shadows skulking in the corners. This late at night, an eerie stillness seems to cling to the air. You drift through it like a wraith—hopeless and stumbling. 

When you reach the door at the end of the hall, you don’t knock. Pushing it open, you step inside without a thought. 

A lone candle burns atop a desk on the far wall, the only light illuminating the cramped, windowless room. Weapons and armor are strewn about as if they’d been stripped off and carelessly discarded, exhaustion taking precedence over neatness. 

You find Finan straight ahead, sprawled out on the bed with an arm tossed over his face. 

Relief almost sends you crumbling to your knees. 

At least he was still here. At least he hadn’t abandoned you. 

You take another step, the floorboards creaking beneath your weight. Finan shifts, arm lifting just enough to reveal tired, squinty eyes. 

One look at you and he’s shoved himself upright, concern etched into every line of his face. 

Your voice is shaky, the words clawing up your throat. “Sihtric’s gone. He.. he left.” 

Finan’s mouth opens, then closes again. He shakes his head, as though contemplating and then discarding several replies, unable to find the one that might actually comfort you. 

Eventually, he settles on the truth. 

“I know,” he admits, running a hand through his beard. “I noticed a few hours ago. I went to check on the hostages after Uhtred set out and…” A deep, frustrated sigh. “The cell was empty. I put two and two together quick enough—figured the little runt must’ve made a deal with ‘em so they’d take him back to the Danes.” An apology flashes in his eyes. “I’d hoped you were already asleep. That you wouldn’t have to deal with this until tomorrow.” 

Silence pools around you, the melancholy blues of Sihtric’s absence boiling into violent hues of betrayal. 

Suddenly, you have the insatiable urge to pinch yourself. As if this is all some sort of cruel mind trick. A nightmare you might still wake up from. You fumble with your hands, fingers picking at the already torn flesh around your nails. You feel pain—and yet nothing changes. 

Sihtric’s still gone. He still betrayed you. 

Betrayed all of you. 

Your head shakes. Warmth begins to spill down your cheeks. “He’s a coward,” you grind out, teeth clenched. “A goddamn coward!” 

A heartbeat and Finan’s up on his feet, closing the distance between you in only a few hasty steps. 

Calloused palms wrap around your wrists, stilling your restless, bloodstained fingers. He pulls you toward him, your knees buckling as you collapse into his chest. Strong arms keep you upright, slipping around your shoulders as another sob tears from your throat. 

Finan holds you like this for a while, rubbing circles against your back and mumbling soothing words against your hair—I know; It’s okay; I’ve got you. 

It’s not until your tears finally slow to a stop, his tunic all but drenched with them, that he tries to say anything of merit. 

“He’s not thinkin’ straight.” You feel the words rumble through his chest, but you’re not certain you heard him right. “It’s all this mess with the curse,” Finan mumbles. “It’s gotten in his head.” 

You push back, not leaving his grip entirely, but enough to look up at him. “Are you seriously defending him?” 

His gaze flickers over your face. A twinge of pity tightens his expression, taking in your flushed skin, streaked with tears. “No,” he answers simply. “But I am statin’ a fact. He would’ve never done this if not for that damned devil-witch.” 

A fair point, perhaps. 

The witch Skade had sunk her talons into Sihtric the moment she spewed that curse from her nasty mouth. She poisoned his mind with paranoia, feasted on his fear like a glutton. 

Skade’s played a hand in everything Sihtric has done—undermining Uhtred’s authority, threatening to fight against his friends, betraying all of you by going back to those filthy goddamn Danes. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you bitterly relent. “But it doesn’t matter. You can blame the witch all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that he made a choice! To betray and abandon us, and to leave me just like—” You catch yourself, mouth clamping shut on the vulnerable words. 

Finan doesn’t speak, only watching you as the dim firelight dances over the handsome, yet despondent, planes of his face. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Brushes a knuckle along your cheek, wiping what remains of your tears. 

Your tongue glides over dry lips, mind reeling slightly. He’s always so patient with you. So kind. 

And he’s here. 

Through damp lashes, you hold Finan’s soft gaze. “I’ll never forgive him for this,” you utter of Sihtric. You’ve been hurt so many times by people you cared about. Been left by too many of them. 

Finan gives a terse nod full of understanding. “You don’t have to.” 

“And I won’t sleep in that room,” you add. Your jaw clenches, fighting another wave of bitter emotion at the thought of laying in that big, lonely bed. “I can’t.” 

All too quickly, he says, “Then don’t. Sleep here.” 

A small wrinkle forms between your brows. 

With one hand still on your back, he lifts the other in mock surrender—an awkward gesture given the closeness of your bodies. 

“No funny business.” His vow is tinged with subtle amusement. A bit reluctant, he adds, “It’ll be just like the old days.” 

Back when he and Uhtred were first recovered from the slave ship—before you took Sihtric as your lover. 

You didn’t know Finan then, but you’d tended to his wounds all the same. Cleaned each brutal gash and stitched every cut; sat hunched in a chair until your back began to ache, plucking tiny splinters from his palms, the skin ravaged and raw from tireless hours spent rowing and rowing and rowing. 

But the worst wounds had been the ones unseen. 

The way his muscles tensed whenever he sat by the fire, the crackling logs too similar to the sound of a whip; how nightmares regularly tore him from sleep, blurring the lines between what’s real and what’s not. 

You treated those wounds, too. As best you could. 

Distracted him from the sounds of the fire with terrible quips and embarrassing stories. Spent late nights together in your room, talking about anything and everything until exhaustion would finally win out. And you’d still be there whenever he’d jolt awake, too, when the blackness of the room felt all too much like the hollow belly of the slave ship. 

A faint smile touches your lips. In spite of the awfulness, something beautiful had been born in those dark months. Something light. 

“The old days,” you muse, voice still hoarse from crying. “You mean back when you were always leaving your stench all over my bed?” 

Finan scoffs. “My stench?” He makes a real show of it—leaning in close, his wiry beard scratching at your cheek as he sniffs your hair, only to recoil with a look of exaggerated disgust. Deadpan, he jokes, “I think you must’ve been gettin’ a whiff of yourself, sweetheart.” 

Your laugh is a broken sound, but a laugh all the same. 

“You’re insufferable,” you tell him. 

The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin. “I think you mean irresistible.” 

Your eyes roll as you slide from his embrace. 

“I don’t.”

a/n: i wanna apologize to sihtric for making him seem like a total bitch in this, but tbf it's kinda his fault. maybe tell ur gf w/ all the abandonment issues about your plan, y'know?

anyways, i've been suffering over this piece for a full week now, so if you like it, please leave a comment/reblog/or write me an in-depth love letter about it!

[persephones-journey]

Finan is a doctor that treats female hysteria.

Conall, his brother asks him to help treat Conall’s wife, Aine.

Finan and Aine do not plan to fall in love. But it happens…

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Note: requested by an anon!

Warnings: the sickness????

pairing: Sihtric x you (x Finan)

summary: keeping your pregnancy a secret during the sickness did not go as planned

wordcount: 1,1k

Masterlist

'I hump my wife whenever I want, yes.'

'What are you looking for, Finan?' Osferth asked.

'Bodies!' Finan answered, cutting through the tall grass while covering his mouth and nose with a cloth.

You, Sihtric and Osferth glanced at each other as you relaxed and laid back in the grass.

'Eh?' Osferth said for all of you.

'Bodies!' Finan shouted again, 'I know the sickness is close!'

'Why are you shitting yourself?' Sihtric taunts. 

You snort at your husband's remark, who gives you a proud smirk.

'I've seen men as strong as bears at breakfast time,' Finan said, 'gurgling blood and pus by supper time! You little runt!' he snarled.

'Hey!' you gave Finan a disapproving look, but then grinned at Sihtric, loving how easy it was to rile the Irish man up right now.

You had been feeling a little under the weather yourself the past week. You knew if you told Finan, he would completely freak out, which could be funny, as you knew you weren't truly sick. But for Finan's own health, you decided against it.

Your travel continued, by foot. You and Sihtric walked with your fingers laced, and he kept you close at all times. Your husband noticed you hadn't been eating as well as usual, but to not freak Finan out, he decided to not bring it up yet, unless it would get worse or you would show signs of being ill.

Finan was the only one to hear you vomit one morning, near the river, and he stared at you, deadpan.

'The… the sickness,' he whispered with big eyes, pointing his sword's edge towards you from a safe distance.

'Finan,' you sighed and wiped your mouth, 'it's not the sickness, trust me,' you said and got up from your knees.

But as you set a step closer to Finan, the Irish man immediately took a step back. And so the dance began.

'Finan, don't be ridiculous!' you hissed, 'trust me, I'm fine.'

'Aye,' Finan said, 'and then catch the sickness myself, lady? I don't think so.'

You tried to walk back to camp but Finan blocked your way, from a safe distance still.

'Excuse me?' Your eyebrow raised so high, it almost hurt.

'You can't go back to the others,' Finan said firmly.

'Finan, you will let me go to my husband, right now, or I will cough in your face when you sleep!' you snarled.

Finan grimaced and took several steps back, allowing your passage back to camp, back to Sihtric.

Finan kept a close eye on you as the days progressed, and he was the only one aware of your early morning sickness. He did find it interesting no one else seemed to get sick like you, and he was especially puzzled that Sihtric didn't catch the sickness, knowing you and him were all over each other the whole day. Which kind of made Finan feel sick, but in a whole different way.

Unfortunately, Finan became more paranoid after the events earlier that day. You and the group you travelled with had been cornered, the only seemingly safe way out was through a river, which was filled with dead bodies, all victims of the horrible sickness. And it all spooked Finan even more.

'We can swim through!' your husband, the oaf, had blurted out, which you told him off for later, in private.

'Sihtric, why are you so reckless?' you asked.

'I am not!' Sihtric retorted, 'I just wanted everyone to get to safety.'

'By suggesting to swim through waters in which dead bodies lay? My love,' you sighed and rubbed your hands over your face. 

You absolutely loved Sihtric, but sometimes you wondered how he was still alive, being the way he is.

Sihtric didn't reply. Looking back, he knew he had been reckless, and he felt bad.

'You know I meant well,' he mumbled.

'I do,' you took his hands, 'but, Sihtric, you have to promise me to try and be more careful. Because I really need you here, with me,' you kissed his cheek, 'alive and well.'

'Did you wash your hands?' Finan asked you when you were making their dinner later that day.

'Yes. I washed them in that river, with the bodies!' you offered Finan a mean glare, and he returned the same face.

He went to sit at a safe distance while keeping his eyes on you. Sihtric was resting under a tree, several paces away from you, while the others were scouting the surrounding lands.

'You will kill us all,' Finan whispered, 'all of us, lady.'

'Will you shut up!' you hissed, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Sihtric wasn't catching any of this.

'Does Sihtric know? That you're dying?'

'Finan, will you shut your mouth?' you groaned, 'I am not dying! I do not have the sickness!'

'Aye, that's exactly what someone would say who is dying, because of the sickness!'

'Okay, listen,' you said as you had enough, 'don't tell anyone else, okay? But I am not sick. I am pregnant.'

Finan stared at you.

'Pregnant?!' He then blurted out loud.

You tried to hush him, but it was already too late. When you looked back over your shoulder, you saw your husband awake and alert, sitting up in the grass.

'You… you and Sihtric have been fooling around during the sickness?' Finan grimaced.

'Oh, I'm sorry. Just because your cock stops working when someone sneezes, doesn't mean that goes for everyone else!' you hissed.

Finan flared his nostrils. 'Lady, my co-'

'My love?' Sihtric frowned at the heated interaction as he walked over, 'what is going on?'

'You humped your wife while the sickness is going around?' Finan asked, stunned.

Sihtric shrugged and gave Finan a proud smile, 'I hump my wife whenever I want, yes.'

'And you got her pregnant?!'

'Finan, no!' you yelled. 

But it was too late. Sihtric's jaw had already dropped and his eyes were big, fixated on you.

'Is that… is that true?' he asked as he took your hands, 'darling are you… are we…'

'It's true,' you smiled, 'I carry your pup. And I couldn't be happier. I really wanted to tell you myself,' you said, 'and not like this. But the Irish loud mouth had to ruin it,' you glared at Finan.

Sihtric teared up and even Finan softened now, when he finally realised you weren't a threat to his health.

'Lady,' Finan said as he finally approached you, 'I owe you an apology.'

'Apology?' Sihtric frowned as he pulled you in his arms, 'what did he do, darling?'

'Your friend here has been harassing me for days,' you hissed at Finan, 'he heard me vomit one morning, you know, morning sickness, but he thought I caught the sickness.'

'I did,' Finan admitted, 'and I was wrong. I am sorry.'

'Is that why you're not eating as much lately?' Sihtric asked you, 'I noticed it but as you seemed fine otherwise, I didn't want to scare anyone else.'

'Yes,' you admitted, 'I hoped you wouldn't pick up on it, my love. But I've passed those days already,' you smiled, 'I am feeling good now. Just, maybe, a little worried about the pup, you know? Of course the sickness worries me too.'

'Lady,' Finan said, 'I promise I will look out for you,' he looked at Sihtric, 'I promise, mate. We have to keep your woman safe.'

'I know,' Sihtric swallowed hard, still trying to grasp that he was becoming a father, 'I… I will.'

'We will,' Finan said, 'aye? We will keep her safe.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylas-the-grim @bubbles-for-all-of-us @andakth @bel-bottoms @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious

[thethyri]

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

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

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

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,919k.

THE VODKAS MENU. + Archive Of Our Own. + Playlist. + THE GUILD OF DRAGONLINGS.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Days and days. Cold nights and colder days yet. Days running, fleeing. Fearing for her life. Until God sent her Uhtred and his men. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 2,919k. 𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD. (Season 3)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Wulfwynn makes the acquaintance of her saviors, who care and tend to her while her memories and nightmares torment her. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 9th November 892 AD - 10th November 892 AD. (Season 3)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Despite the healing of her wounds, Wulfwynn is swept up in a whirlwind of suffering and anguish that threatens to tempt her to throw herself off the cliff she teeters upon. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈❟ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗❟ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓❟ 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐈❟ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆❟ 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘❟ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐈❟ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄.⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐈𝐈, 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗❟ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓❟ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘❟ 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri​​​​. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gif rightfully belong to @mojosdumpingground.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

You are an evil woman (I love you though)! Why are you torturing the poor Finan? 😭😭😭😭

This was so harsh.

King of the North, Part 10 (Updated version)

Warnings: MATURE. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Violence. Angst. Character death. Sorry in advance ☠️ … this is canon divergent TLK.

Your bow crashed to the ground and before you knew it, Finan had grabbed you up into his arms and captured you in a searing kiss. Your body melted into his seamlessly as you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and took your fingertips to the hair at the nape of his neck, the most natural feeling in the world coming back to you in an instant. His strong arms came around your waist to hold you in a tight embrace as he kissed you achingly; your heart raced as you felt the warm tingling in your mouth that his tongue left behind, your chest bellowing up and down and your breaths turned ragged in between his desperate, consuming kisses. As soon as you broke away, Finan grabbed your hand firmly in his and tugged you towards him once more.

“We have to go,” he whispered, “I’ve got what I came for.”

You tried to pull your hand away from his, but his grip was bruising.

“Finan,” you muttered breathlessly. “I can’t. We can’t keep doing this.”

Finan scoffed. He let go of your hand and brought it up to cup your cheek, searching your eyes. “Have ya forgotten my oath to ya? I will never leave you. No matter what threatens to tear us apart.”

You looked up to see your lover’s dark eyes staring into yours with a tenderness and warmth you no longer recognized after so much time apart. Uhtred came closer to you then, taking a hand to your shoulder before pulling you into his own embrace. At this gentle notion from Lord Uhtred, you finally let tears escape from your eyes as he held you in a friendly embrace. Your alertness came back to you in an instant as you heard footsteps behind you, and as you turned in Uhtred’s arms you caught a glimpse of the baby monk and the young Dane Sihtric coming closer.

“Princess, thank the Gods!!” Sihtric rasped out, before throwing his arms around you and his face into your hair, crushing you with his strong arms.

“Sihtric! Careful now,” you spoke out breathlessly, pulling your cloak to the side to reveal your rounded belly, to which Sihtric gasped softly and muttered something in his native tongue.

Osferth surrounded you with the others and grabbed your hand softly. “Princess,” he kissed your hand and gave you a soft smile.

The four men all gave you concerned yet endearing looks that drifted to your inevitable state, to which you smiled and rolled your eyes.

“Not to worry… I am well,” you comforted the boys with a whisper, your eyes meeting Finan’s again as the other men gazed at your belly. Finan’s dark eyes looked at you as if you had been heaven sent, his eternal savior. Your eyes drifted to his lips for a moment, then back up to meet his eyes. His gaze had shifted into a darker one, a hunger evident in his eyes that made your mouth water. You cleared your throat, hoping your next words would hold some conviction.

“All of you must go, it is not safe for you here.”

Uhtred chuckled at your words, and Sihtric gave you a puzzled look.

“Yes, my love,” Finan said, grabbing your hand to steady you, “And you are coming with us.”

Against your better judgement you made no protest, letting Finan and Sihtric carefully lead you to Finan’s horse and helping you to mount up. You quickly felt Finan mount up behind you, pulling you backwards against his chest which made you gasp at the surprise. You felt Finan’s lips rasp against your ear as he let out a deep chuckle and whispered to you in his deep brogue.

“It has been too long, my dearest love.”

You smiled as the shudder went through your body; you turned your head back to look at him, the darkness in his eyes sending you reeling into the imagines of a steadfast future as if you had never been parted from one another. His embrace and his energy made you forget all the inevitable consequences that loomed in the near future.

Ronan stood pacing the grounds of the camp, his usual nervous tick, with his hands joined behind his back as he looked out to the pitch black horizon.

“Would ya quit yer worryin’? You are worse than our mother,” Cinaed teased, laying on his side near the fire with the other men as Ronan and his Kingsguard remained standing at the ready.

Ronan shushed him with a gesture of his hand as a sound in the distance simultaneously caught his attention. He looked in the direction of the noise, not yet seeing anything.

Hooves.

“Stand fast,” Ronan sternly commanded the guardsmen who drew their swords in anticipation, until Ronan could see the familiar shaved head of Lord Uhtred. Ronan’s face lit up with a grin as the band of men and their horses came closer, most of them going at an eager pace except for the figure in the back who had a woman in front of him, his horse treading a light trot behind the others.

“It has been a success!!” Ronan chimed out, walking towards them all now as they neared him. Cinaed’s only response was a smirk in his brother’s direction as he remained at his comfortable spot by the fire.

As Ronan neared you and Finan on your horse, your breath caught in your throat as you took a long glimpse at the young man’s features. He was stunning, a young shadow of his father. His kind eyes met yours as he reached for your hand to help you dismount, and you heard Finan chuckle behind you.

“The most beautiful Scotswoman,” Ronan whispered in Irish as he helped you down from the horse slowly, then brought the back of your hand to his lips. “An honor, indeed. Beauty enough to start wars for your hand.”

You chuckled as you understood some of the language, your cheeks turning a shade of pink as you turned your head to gaze back at your lover, who held a deep grin. His eldest son clearly held his father’s charms.

“Aye, that’s enough,” Finan chuckled, “My love, this is Ronan... My eldest son,” Finan paused for a moment. “…King of Ulaid.”

You paused to look over Ronan, still surprised at the opportunity to meet Finan’s firstborn, and utterly relieved that Finan’s blood had taken the throne.

“You’re Grace,” you bowed with a happy grin, “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

As soon as Cinaed had seen you exchanging pleasantries with Ronan in the distance, he shuffled himself up from the ground quickly, dusting himself off before he ran to you.

“Princess,” Cinaed bowed, slightly out of breath, before taking your hand in his and placing a kiss to it as his brother had. “I am Cinaed, the second born. The clever one.”

Ronan scoffed and rolled his eyes as Finan laughed out loud, and you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle in between your grins. “Cinaed, a pleasure.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” Cinaed grinned back at you.

Finan rolled his eyes at the teenagers, who were waiting eagerly for your next words.

“Alright now, time to close up camp,” Finan commanded the boys, who were still gawking at your presence, “Cinaed, fetch the princess some furs and some water.”

“You don’t have to dote on me, I can fend for myself.” You said with a glare in Finan’s direction.

“Princess, you do indeed look like you can fend for yourself,” Ronan said, “But there are two of you now.” He gave you a wink before bringing his gaze down to your belly.

You gave Ronan a soft smile and nodded. You had been fending for yourself for many months, and you relaxed at the thought of the father of your child being here with you, his concern for your well being already evident, and a myriad of strong men to surround you. Your sworn protectors… your family. Finan had been reunited with the sons he lost so many years ago, and it was a blessing you thought that they seemed happy to be around him. They would grow to love him as much as you did, you thought, for he was the greatest man you’ve ever known.

Sihtric came to you then, his mismatched eyes glowing in the campside fire he led you to, and handed you a water skin as you took a seat next to him. You drank it to the very end, Sihtric watching you closely.

“Finan is a lucky man,” Sihtric whispered, looking at you intently. “You are simply glowing, my lady.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a sense of bashfulness. Uhtred came to sit on your other side then, handing you a plate of food as he spoke.

“You look well,” the Lord spoke in between taking bites from his own plate, “Bearing Finan’s child becomes you.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile at the attentions of the men. They had once been your chosen family, yet the distance and time between you all, everything that had happened - it had been traumatizing and distancing. You held contempt for yourself for your decisions, starting from the very moment you held Alfred’s affections for the first time. But if not for all the strife, you might have never met Finan or the others, and they were an innate part of your path on this earth. Perhaps now you could start again, and build a life with Finan for your newborn child. The pleasant thoughts drifted as a startling thought came to your mind.

Domnal has been on patrol to the grounds and surrounding areas for days.

You gulped as you felt your throat tighten, your breath quickening as your chest began to bellow up and down.

You looked around for your lover, seeing that he was talking to his boys in the distance.

“Finan!” You beckoned to gain his attention, a panic coming across you as Sihtric grabbed your hand.

“Lady,” Sihtric said softly, “What is it?”

“They will know that your camp is here,” you forced the words to come out as clearly as possible, “We cannot stay, we will very likely be captured.”

Ronan knelt down to your side as he came near, Finan and Cinaed following him.

“Princess, my army will defend us against any threat,” Ronan said confidently, giving you a soft smile as he looked down to you, “You are safe with us, I swear it.”

You nodded hesitantly, feeling the warmth of Finan’s presence as he sat down next to you, bringing his hands to cup your face and giving you a soft kiss.

“My love, I will keep ya safe. I will defend my family with my life.”

After the campfire had died down to a stifled blaze, the men retired to their respective tents. As you followed Finan to his, you felt your heart start to thud in your chest with anticipation. Finan’s warm, calloused hand against yours as he led you inside was enough to set your body ablaze, and as you both stood there and he turned to face you, the desire in his eyes lit your body completely as goosebumps lined your arms.

You felt a softness within you return, an aching in your heart that you had suppressed for a time. Finan came closer to you, his hands gracing your hips and one of them sliding up to gently grace your rounded belly. You kissed him softly then, taking your hand to the nape of his neck to deepen the kiss. Finan jumped away from you in shock as he felt a kick to the palm of his hand, the babe in your belly shifting in position.

“Oh my God!” Finan said in his deep accent, giving you an awestruck look.

You gave him a grin, the appearance of his wide eyes and shocked demeanor making you giggle.

Finan had yet to experience something of that nature, as his first wife was distanced from him when she carried Ronan and Cinaed. Finan thought it must be a miracle. A miracle to know what the two of you created, to feel it and see it with his own eyes. His impatience grew then, so curiously looking at your belly and stroking it gently with his palm.

“H-how long?” He whispered to you then, not looking away from your belly.

“Mm,” you hummed, “it shall be a while yet.”

His eyes met yours tenderly again as he ghosted his lips over yours, one of his hands coming around to grip your waist as the other came to your breast.

“Can we…?”

You giggled again at Finan’s caution. “Yes!”

“Oh thank God,” he rasped before bringing his lips to your neck, sucking and biting as the grip of his hands to your body became firmer. Goosebumps lined your arms again at his touch; your body had been aching for him for months, and you had often pleasured yourself in the middle of the night to relieve the ache, thinking back to the love-making the two of you had shared in the past and how it felt. By the grace of God now, your lover was right in front of you, and you could feel the warmth of his body and the firmness of his cock pressing against you.

You grappled at each other’s clothing, disrobing quickly and desperately, before Finan carried you to the furs. He held his body over you carefully, not allowing his full body weight to cover you in care of the babe as he brought his lips to yours again fervently. You felt the wetness gather in your core as he stroked his tongue against yours, and soon your awareness was shifting to only sensation, a blissful feeling of pleasure coming across you as Finan knelt down and started peppering kisses and licks to your thighs. You arched your back in wanton need, his breath rasping across your core before you felt the wet warmth of his tongue to your slit, and you immediately cried out in pleasure. He relentlessly bestowed you pleasure with his mouth, his tongue circling and sucking on your sensitive bud as he alternated between long strokes, and you felt yourself start to come apart… slowly and agonizingly, until you nearly combusted with your climax on Finan’s tongue as you moaned helplessly, your fingers gripping at his hair.

Your awareness was still reeling as you felt Finan’s strong arms come across you to gather you up; He gently positioned you on your side, your eyes closed and still catching your breath as he brought his body behind yours. You felt his warm breath and the rasp of his beard on your neck as he snuggled up to you from behind and the bliss of his touch enveloped you completely as you rested your head against his chest. You felt his hand come across you as you arched your head up to kiss him, wrapping your arm around his neck to deepen the kiss. Finan moaned into your mouth as you stroked your tongue with his, and a whimper left you as you felt him push inside you slowly, the pleasant stretch and sensitivity of your core enough to send you reeling, tiptoeing on the edge again as he began to move, a foreign yet familiar feeling that made your toes curl and your body ache. He made love to you slowly, his caresses and deep strokes allowing him to learn your body again, until you both became completely lost in one another.

Screams in the distance shook you awake as Finan stumbled over you and onto his feet. He scrambled to don his trousers and tunic, hardly enough time to gather his armor and sword belt before you both heard the sounds growing closer.

The camp was infiltrated by Domnal’s band of men in the early hours of the morning, though the dawn was far from appearing. The darkness gave them an advantage.

“Finan,” you whispered urgently, and your lover met your gaze with furrowed brows and sleepy, concerned eyes.

The overnight guards had made haste to warn the camp, but holding off the enemy was a futile task as Domnal’s men had stealth and speed with their weapons, catching Ronan’s men completely off their guard. Your hands shook as you forced yourself to the edge of the furs, watching as Finan peeked out discreetly from the entrance of your tent. Before you knew it, Finan ran out, leaving you by yourself.

“Osferth!” You heard him yell, and after a few moments the baby monk stumbled into your tent.

“I am to protect you, lady.”

You nodded to Osferth as you stood from the furs to put on heavier clothing. You gathered your weapons to their respective places on your person, and Osferth looked at you with wide eyes.

“Lady, by Finan’s order you are not allowed to leave this tent. I am to be your personal guard.”

If you weren’t so fearful, you would have scoffed in Osferth’s direction and shoved him away, but you only nodded and knelt next to him at the entrance of your tent to gaze out. The two of you watched silently as the Scots trudged closer and Ronan’s men woke and readied themselves as best they could.

As you watched the Scots get closer, your mind was reeling with fear, especially for Finan and his children. Uhtred and Sihtric had sprung into action, and formidable warriors they were, but the Scots simply had the upper hand during the unexpected attack. Among the sounds of swords clashing and shields cracking, you heard a desperate voice in the distance shouting. After a moment, you gathered that it was Ronan’s.

“STAND FAST!”

Ronan fought on horseback, wielding his sword left and right as he directed his horse in and out of the throws of men in battle. Uhtred, Sihtric, Finan, and Cinaed fought on foot, trudging through the guardsmen to make devastating blows to the enemy until countless bodies lay dead on the grasses of the land. Ronan’s guardsmen scrambled to stay close to him.

“PROTECT THE KING WITH YOUR LIVES!”

Uhtred and Sihtric instinctively stayed close to Finan’s youngest, Cinaed, for he was skillful with his sword but so much smaller than the rest of the men on the battlefield. Cinaed was quick and agile, dodging most of the attacks bestowed upon him, while Uhtred defended him from bigger foes. Finan kept his eyes on Ronan, who was mostly undefended as his personal guardsmen fell one by one.

Finan caught sight of Domnal in the distance, and his rage toward the Scottish Prince engulfed him as he fought men in droves, trying to keep his gaze between Ronan and Domnal’s location. It was then that you and Osferth had decided to leave the tent and get closer to the battle, taking cover behind trees and now able to watch it play out in closer detail. You discussed a possible advantage point with the baby monk, but the scene was happening all too quickly before you, and the Scots were steadfast in their efforts.

“FALL BACK!”

Time moved slowly as Finan heard Ronan’s desperate command and searched the battlegrounds for him, turning in all directions to see where his voice was coming from. Suddenly, he could see no one he recognized as he was overcome with Scotsmen attacking him. He defended against three or four men at a time and emerged unscathed; His attention was then diverted to Domnal’s voice.

Time was moving slowly again, muffled voices and clashing of weapons, and Finan found himself to be feeling faint, the rush of adrenaline dipping into a state of exhaustion. Before Finan could gain his wits, he saw Uhtred sprinting toward Domnal. Finan’s eyes looked to the scene Uhtred was running towards, and before he could think or move, he witnessed Domnal plunge his sword into Cinaed’s chest.

The young teenager fell to the ground, Uhtred finally reaching him and sliding to the ground quickly to grab him up as Uhtred screamed in agony.

“NO!”

Domnal may have realized then the depth of the situation, who the young man was. But in his mind, he knew it before he lunged with his sword. Cinaed was the image of Finan just as Ronan was, and Domnal knew of the recent coronation, the reunion between Finan and his heirs. Domnal quickly fell back, sprinting from the area with a band of guardsmen as he watched Uhtred approach. The Scots seemed to be outnumbered despite their advantage, and a retreat was underway.

“No, no, no,” Uhtred begged desperately, holding Cinaed in his arms now and holding pressure over the bleeding wound as best he could as Cinaed struggled to breathe.

Finan’s knees nearly buckled underneath him as he witnessed his child fall to the ground. Regardless he sprinted toward them now, a desperate surge of adrenaline fueling his body. Finan knelt to the ground, so helpless and afraid as he took Cinaed from Uhtred’s arms.

Sihtric had witnessed the brutality, his eyes searching for Domnal’s whereabouts, until he clocked him sprinting toward the tree covered forest. Sihtric sprinted then, his enormous rage fueling him as he ran. He would kill the Scottish Prince with his bare hands now if he had to. He ran to the forest, trailing the Scots until he clashed sword and seax with Domnal’s guardsmen, killing one after another brutally. But Sihtric’s mission was fruitless… Domnal had escaped.

You felt the deepest pain in your chest as you sobbed into Osferth’s embrace. The two of you still held the covered spot in the distance, a front row seat to the brutality, and this had to have been the worst you had ever seen. You realized now that the Scots had retreated, so you sprinted from Osferth to Cinaed. Ronan rushed to the scene as well, kneeling to Finan, Cinaed, and Uhtred.

Finan was muttering in Irish helplessly, his Son still alive in his arms, but only for a moment.

“No, Dear God, No, please… please God, no!!”

Finan cupped Cinaed’s cheek with one hand, their eyes held together but Cinaed was barely able to form words.

“Father,” Cinaed whispered hoarsely, “… did I do… well?”

Finan’s tears fell uncontrollably as he stroked the teenager's face and hair, holding him closely in his arms. As he saw Cinaed’s awareness fade, Finan reluctantly accepted his own inevitable, miserable reality. “You are so brave, Lad. You are so brave… I love you.”

Cinaed was shaking, but held a small smile then, nodding to Finan as he held his hand tightly in his. After a minute or two, Cinaed’s shaking ceased, and he was calm… Finan kissed his forehead firmly, and the teenager slowly closed his eyes as his grip in Finan’s hand loosened.

>>> Part 11

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