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beyralxoxo · 13 days ago

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{DESTINY AND BLOOD-KINGDOM: SIHTRIC KJARTANSSON}

IV: the seer

SUMMARY: The crew returns to the Burh with Skade, Alfred insists on seeing her while Yggdrasil knows it is a bad idea. Later on they are met with Bloodhair and some of Yggdrasil's past is brought forward much to her hatred towards herself and what she has to endure.

PAIRING: Sihtric Kjartansson x Yggdrasil Ivarsdottir (OC)

WORD COUNT: 5,6 K

WARNINGS: swearing-mentions of pain-mentions of hitting someone with force-mild panic attack from Yggdrasil-bringing up past

The night in the Burh had settled in, thick with the weight of plans and decisions that hung in the air like an omen. The fire crackled softly, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. Yggdrasil sat beside Finan, her mind far from the warmth of the flames. Aethelwold, Alfred, and Edward were gathered at the table, with Beocca quietly observing. Alfred sat in the center, as always, the king in control—his eyes sharp, his mind calculating.

Finan poured a cup of mead for himself before swiftly handing it to Yggdrasil. The coolness of the metal in her hand was a small comfort, and she took it with a soft murmur of thanks. Her gaze met Finan's for just a moment, and she saw the way his eyes softened as he took his own drink. She couldn't help but appreciate the small moments of peace between them, fleeting as they were.

But there was no peace in the room now.

Uhtred stood tall in the center, his posture radiating strength and frustration. The tension in his muscles was palpable as he listened to Alfred speak.

"Uhtred, we have been discussing strategy," Alfred began, his voice calm but holding an undertone of finality. "And I have decided we shall remain here, within the Burh and wait."

Uhtred's brow furrowed, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Wait?" His voice was low, the challenge in it unmistakable. "Wait for what?"

Alfred's gaze never wavered. "For Bloodhair to attack."

Uhtred's head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing as he considered the words. "Why would he attack?" The question came out in disbelief, like he couldn't fathom such a foolish plan.

Edward, sitting to Alfred's right, looked at Uhtred as though he were explaining something simple. "Is that not what Danes do, Uhtred?" His voice held a mix of confusion and irritation. "They cannot help themselves."

Yggdrasil, ever calm and composed, let out a soft hum as she turned her gaze toward Edward. "Edward," she spoke slowly, her voice smooth and almost hypnotic, "Danes are known for waiting. They strike when the time is right. They are masters of strategy. Yes, they are greedy, but they also know their stakes." She met Alfred's eyes, holding his gaze as if to challenge him. "They will not waste men on foolish attacks."

Alfred glanced at Yggdrasil, his interest piqued. Then he looked back at Uhtred, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "Why should he not attack? I am here."

Uhtred's lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes remained steady. "You are here, and so too is your guard," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But why would he throw men against the walls of a Burh when Winchester's riches are unprotected?"

Edward frowned, clearly troubled by Uhtred's reasoning. "Would he really do that?"

Beocca, ever the voice of reason, looked down at the map before him, his eyes thoughtful. "He doesn't have a large army to hold Winchester."

Uhtred crossed his arms over his chest, his posture unwavering. "What if Haesten has joined him?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Athelwold, who had been quiet up until now, finally leaned forward with an arrogance that made Yggdrasil's skin crawl. "You're saying we should've stayed home?" His voice dripped with a smugness that only made the tension heavier.

Sigebriht, who had been lingering in the background, stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room like a sharp blade. "If you believe the advantages of the Burh to be dismissed, Lord, then you shall have an alternative."

Uhtred turned toward him, his expression cool. "I do not know you," he said flatly.

Sigebriht stood taller now, his chin raised in quiet defiance. "I am Sigebriht, son of Sigelf," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of his name. "It is my villages that the heathens burn. My father built these walls."

Uhtred gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "And he built them well, Sigebriht," he said, his voice almost approving. "That's why Bloodhair will not attack."

Yggdrasil, who had been silent until now, spoke with a quiet certainty. "He will not want to lose men, lord," she said, her words laced with wisdom. She turned to Alfred, her gaze unwavering. "Not even to kill a king"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So you say?" His voice was more of a challenge than a question.

Uhtred stepped closer, his presence imposing. "He will wait for us to starve, or he will pass," he said, his tone hardening. "He will not attack, Lord. But we must move, and that is my advice."

Beocca, his brow furrowed in concern, tried to reason with the king. "If Winchester is vulnerable, Lord—"

But Alfred silenced him with a quick motion, turning his gaze to Uhtred with an almost dangerous calm. "This woman that you've taken, why is she here?" he asked, his voice smooth, like a knife poised at the throat.

Uhtred faltered for a moment, his usual confidence slipping for just a second. "She has value," he replied, his voice guarded, yet oddly unsure.

Yggdrasil shook her head at that, though no one else seemed to notice the small gesture. Alfred's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed Uhtred's words. "And Sigurd will want her back. I refuse to call him Bloodhair."

Yggdrasil smiled softly to herself at that, her lips curling in silent amusement at the way Alfred said the name.

Uhtred nodded solemnly, his eyes meeting Alfred's. "Yes, he will want her back," he agreed, his voice low.

Aethelwold, of course, couldn't keep his mouth shut. He leaned in slightly, his voice thick with insincerity. "She is what to him? A wife? A lover?"

Uhtred pursed his lips, visibly irritated by Aethelwold's words, but he didn't allow it to show. "She's a...seer. A sorceress."

Aethelwold's grin twisted, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Yggdrasil. "It seems there are more of your kind out there, Lady Yggdrasil."

Yggdrasil's jaw clenched. Finan's fingers curled into fists beside her, his anger barely contained. But Yggdrasil remained calm, her gaze hardening as she met Aethelwold's mocking look. She didn't allow the words to sting her, not in front of them all.

With a breath, she smiled, a fake sweetness in her voice. "A seer and my kind are two different types of people, Aethelwold. See, for a man born into royalty, you're not much read, are you?"

Aethelwold blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sharpness of her words, but his smile remained, albeit more guarded now.

Alfred, who had been quiet for a moment, hummed thoughtfully at the mention of "sorceress." His gaze turned to Edward, his voice suddenly cold and calculating. "The simple mind of a Dane believes in signs, Edward. If a bird flew from their camp to ours, they would see it as a sign and follow. They would march into battle all because a seer caught a glimpse of a bird."

Uhtred leaned in slightly, his voice almost conspiratorial. "Yes, Lord. It can happen that way."

Alfred nodded, his mind clearly working through the possibilities. "Then it follows that without his seer, there can be no signs. Sigurd is blind. There can be no battle."

Yggdrasil's voice cut through the tension, her words carefully measured. "You are both right... and wrong, Lord."

Alfred's command sliced through the tension in the room like a dagger. "We wait." His voice left no room for argument, and Uhtred's weary sigh was all the response he could muster. The air in the room thickened with uncertainty, but Alfred's decision was final.

The king rose, the other noblemen following suit. "Now... I wish to look at her."

Yggdrasil exchanged a glance with Finan and Uhtred—both of them clearly baffled by Alfred's request. The absurdity of it settled like a stone in her stomach. It was an intrusion, and it was making her skin crawl.

Yggdrasil felt her pulse quicken as Alfred turned back to Uhtred, his gaze unyielding. "Skade."

Without a word, Yggdrasil stood, Finan beside her, his brow furrowed in confusion. She could feel the weight of the king's decision hanging over them, but there was no time for explanations. With a quick glance at Finan, she made her way toward the exit.

The cold air hit her like a slap, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, walking briskly. Her frustration simmered just beneath the surface. Everything was becoming a mess.

When she arrived at the fire pit, Sihtric and Osferth stood by the flames, their shadows flickering like ghosts in the light. Sihtric's brow furrowed when he saw her approach, the concern in his eyes so visible, it made her chest tighten.

"What's going on, Lady?" Sihtric's voice was soft, but his worry was clear.

Finan, ever the joker, leaned in close, lowering his voice to share a secret. "Alfred said he wants to hump the witch. No word of a lie."

Yggdrasil shot him an incredulous look. "From your mouth, it sounds like it." Her words were biting, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes despite herself.

Finan grinned, his usual cocky smirk never faltering. "Oye, little sister, I never lie."

But Yggdrasil's attention was on Sihtric now. He was still looking at her with that same softness, his gaze gentle but full of concern. There was something in the way he watched her that made her feel like the world outside the Burh had faded away.

"Lady," Sihtric said, his voice low and hesitant, the way he said her title sent a flutter through her chest. "Shall I fetch you some ale? For—the cold, I mean."

His voice was so sincere, so gentle, that Yggdrasil's heart skipped a beat. She smiled, a softness creeping into her features as she looked at him.

"There's no need, Sihtric. Thank you," she replied, her tone warm.

Sihtric didn't move right away, his eyes lingering on her just a second longer, as if he was trying to figure out if there was more he could do. He swallowed, visibly shifting on his feet, then nodded, his voice a soft murmur, barely above a whisper.

"Of course, Lady. I'll be right here if you need anything... anything at all." He stood straighter, like he was waiting for her to give him another task, anything to keep him in her presence just a little longer.

Yggdrasil's smile deepened, the warmth in her chest growing, and she couldn't help but feel an unexpected sense of comfort in the way he looked at her. It was like he was always waiting, always willing to offer whatever he could, just to keep her safe or comfortable.

"You're too kind, Sihtric." Her words were soft, genuine. He had this way of making her feel like she mattered, like she wasn't just some stranger caught up in this war.

Sihtric's cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and he averted his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat. "I just want to be of use, Lady" he said, his voice even quieter, as though he wasn't entirely sure how to respond.

Yggdrasil chuckled softly, the sound light and melodic. "You're more than kind."

Sihtric looked back at her then, his expression a mix of uncertainty and something deeper—something that made Yggdrasil's heart beat a little faster. She knew he was trying, always trying, but it was clear that he wanted to do more. She could see it in the way his eyes never fully left her, as though he was waiting for permission to offer more.

"I—if you need anything else, Lady, you just... just let me know," he stammered, his tone filled with earnestness. There was a tenderness in his voice that caught Yggdrasil off guard. It was almost as though he was trying to express everything he felt in one simple statement, and yet it felt like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Yggdrasil's heart skipped another beat. She had never been the type to rely on others, but there was something in Sihtric's unwavering devotion that made it hard not to. His kindness, his loyalty—it made her feel seen in a way she hadn't expected.

"I will, Sihtric," she replied, her voice low, almost shy. It was a promise, soft but certain. She could feel the weight of it, and in that moment, she realized that perhaps, for the first time in a long while, she wasn't alone.

Finan, who had been watching the interaction with an exaggeratedly bored expression, finally rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of the god," he muttered under his breath. "You two are a bloody pair."

Yggdrasil glanced at him with a playful smirk. "Mind your own business, Finan."

Sihtric, still a little flustered, grinned shyly, his eyes twinkling with a warmth that made her heart flutter. "We'll be right here if you need us, Lady."

Yggdrasil smiled at him again, her heart inexplicably lighter. "I know."

Yggdrasil watched as Alfred and Uhtred emerged from the darkness of Skade's prison, their expressions unreadable. But before she could even begin to gauge what had transpired between them, a piercing, shrill cry shattered the night air.

"Bloodhaaaair!"

The name echoed across the Burh, raw and desperate, like a wounded animal howling for its master. Skade's screams rang out, relentless and frenzied, sending shivers down spines.

Yggdrasil let out a slow breath, wincing at the pathetic display. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if physically recoiling from the sheer annoyance of it.

And, of course, Uhtred—in his infinite wisdom—had decided that if Skade insisted on calling for Bloodhair, they might as well make use of it.

So now, there she was—standing atop the palisade, where the guards stood, her voice even louder, her cries even more unbearable.

Yggdrasil's patience was hanging by a thread.

Sihtric, standing beside her, clenched his jaw before turning to Uhtred, who had now lazily leaned against a wooden pole, looking utterly unbothered.

"When can we bind her mouth shut?" Sihtric asked, his voice tight with irritation.

Yggdrasil's lips curled into a slow, amused smile.

"Sihtric, do it now. I need it," she murmured, a pleading edge to her tone, her fingers massaging her temples.

Sihtric, ever loyal, nodded immediately and turned to leave, ready to follow her command—until Uhtred's voice cut through the air.

"You will do no such thing."

Sihtric froze mid-step, his body tense. "But—" He looked at Yggdrasil, seeking confirmation, his dark eyes filled with hesitation.

Uhtred shot him a sharp warning glare, and just like that, Sihtric stopped in place, his head lowering slightly.

Yggdrasil narrowed her eyes at her brother, her irritation clear as she threw him a mock death glare. Uhtred, the coward, dodged it with ease, looking away with a smirk.

Sihtric, still looking to Yggdrasil for direction, hesitated before finally stepping back beside her, as if making sure she truly wanted him to stay put. She gave him a small nod, and he instantly relaxed.

Uhtred, completely unfazed, only glanced toward the palisade where Skade's wails continued to ring through the night.

"Let her sing," he said dismissively.

Osferth, who had been silent all this time, finally let out a small, incredulous chuckle. "That is not singing."

Yggdrasil smirked, amused by Osferth's remark as she crouched slightly closer to the fire, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

Finan sighed heavily before resting his head against her shoulder, making himself comfortable.

For a moment, there was peace—just the crackling of the fire, the distant sounds of the camp, the presence of those she trusted around her.

And then, of course, Aethelwold had to ruin it.

He sauntered toward them, his usual air of self-importance wrapped around him like an expensive cloak. He was unbothered by the way both Yggdrasil and Finan immediately fixed him with glares of pure loathing.

"Here's a bit of loose talk for you," Aethelwold began, his grin smug and knowing. "Sigebriht, son of whoever, would very much like to rip the innards from young Edward's belly. Would you like to know why?"

Yggdrasil narrowed her eyes, her patience already at its limit. "No. Go away."

Aethelwold ignored her completely, his grin widening.

"I'll tell you anyway," he said, his voice dripping with mock delight. "Edward—the non-bastard son of Alfred—" he gestured toward Osferth with a lazy hand, "has whelped twins on the girl Sigebriht once loved."

A heavy silence fell over the group.

Osferth's jaw tensed, his hands curling into fists at the pointed insult.

Yggdrasil's expression darkened instantly, her body shifting slightly as if restraining the urge to physically remove Aethelwold from her sight. "You bastard faced cunt" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Do you ever shut up?"

Aethelwold merely grinned wider, unfazed by her venom. "I only speak the truth, dear Yggdrasil. A rare thing among us nobles."

Osferth, who had been silent, finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "And does Sigebriht still love this girl?"

Aethelwold's smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

He didn't answer.

And in that pause, Yggdrasil knew—this wasn't about love at all. It was about pride, about wounded egos, about men who could not bear to lose.

She let out a slow breath, her gaze locked onto Aethelwold's, unyielding. "You enjoy stirring the pot, don't you?"

Aethelwold simply smirked again, his silence louder than words.

Yggdrasil rolled her eyes, turning back toward the fire as if dismissing his very existence.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath.

Yggdrasil let out an exasperated sigh before pushing herself up from where she sat, unintentionally jostling Finan in the process. The poor man let out a disgruntled groan, blinking up at her in confusion.

"What the hell, woman?" he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

She ignored him, her attention already shifting elsewhere. Her patience had officially worn thin, and she had no intention of sitting through even one more second of Skade's wailing or Aethelwold's incessant shittalking.

Her sharp gaze landed on the insufferable man in question, and she jabbed a pointed finger in his direction. "I am going to my room. I've had enough of that woman's shrieking and your bullshit, Aethelwold."

Aethelwold, ever the smug bastard, only smirked at her, as if reveling in her irritation.

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, ready to walk away, but then—almost as an afterthought—she hesitated. Glancing back over her shoulder, she softened just a fraction.

"Goodnight."

There was a chorus of responses—

Finan muttered something under his breath that was caught between a grumbled goodnight and a barely veiled threat.

Uhtred simply nodded, offering a lazy wave of dismissal.

Osferth, ever the polite one, responded with a quiet, "Goodnight, Lady Yggdrasil."

And then there was Sihtric.

He shifted on his feet, almost as if he wasn't sure whether to say something or keep his mouth shut. His lips parted—closed—then parted again. "N—Night good—" he stammered before quickly correcting himself. "I mean—goodnight, Lady."

Yggdrasil paused mid-step, turning slightly toward him.

There was something about the way he said it—so earnest, so utterly flustered, his voice laced with an almost boyish nervousness—that made warmth bloom in her chest.

A slow, amused smile tugged at her lips, and she let out a soft, breathy chuckle.

Sihtric's ears burned at the sound.

Still smiling to herself, Yggdrasil finally walked away, leaving behind a very flustered and slightly lovesick Sihtric, who was now pointedly staring at the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

That night, Yggdrasil lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a flustered smile tugging at her lips.

One thought ran through her mind.

What was that feeling?

The warmth in her chest, the way her heart fluttered at the smallest gesture, the way Sihtric's voice—so soft, so reverent when he called her Lady—made something deep within her stir.

She turned onto her side, clutching the furs closer, her face burning at the memory of him stumbling over his words.

Gods. What is happening to me?

But morning came quickly, stealing away the quiet confusion of the night.

This time, Finan wasn't the one to wake her—strangely, she had already been awake with the first light of dawn.

She braided her hair with swift, practiced fingers, donned her armor, and stepped out into the biting cold air, feeling an odd sense of restlessness settle over her.

She searched for her brother, expecting to find him deep in discussion with the men. But to her growing annoyance—he was nowhere to be seen.

She caught sight of Finan and wasted no time. "Where is Uhtred?"

The Irishman cringed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "In the witch's lair—giving her water."

Yggdrasil stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, her lips parted. "I'm sorry—he's what?"

Finan nodded, as if to confirm that yes, he had just said what she thought he did.

Her eyes darkened, disbelief laced in her voice. "My brother is a fool—gods help me." She muttered under her breath, shaking her head in frustration.

And then—

"LORD! IT'S BLOODHAIR! HE HAS HOSTAGES!"

Sihtric's urgent voice rang through the air, snapping them all to attention.

Yggdrasil exchanged a quick glance with Finan before instinct took over, and the two of them bolted—rushing to the top of the palisade, their breath visible in the cold morning air. Uthred after them as he heard the call.

Below them—

Her jaw clenched.

That cunt.

Bloodhair stood at the front, gripping a poor woman by her hair before shoving her forward like she was nothing more than a ragdoll. His men followed his example, yanking terrified prisoners ahead with cruel hands.

Yggdrasil's blood boiled.

She could feel the simmering rage rising within her, white-hot and unrelenting.

She barely registered Uhtred moving beside her, leaning in close. "Silla, we go."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, nodding once before following him down. She didn't need to ask where—they both knew.

The witch.

Her stomach turned, but she pushed the feeling aside, turning instead to Osferth. "Osferth, be ready to open the gates."

Then to Finan—"You're coming with us."

The Irishman nodded without hesitation.

From the distance, the hurried sound of footsteps—Alfred, accompanied by Beocca, Sigebriht, and Edward, all arriving with urgency etched into their expressions.

Alfred's voice cut through the tension. "Uhtred, who is it?"

Uhtred barely looked at him as he answered. "Bloodhair, Lord. He has hostages."

Alfred's face darkened. "He wishes to negotiate."

Yggdrasil tilted her head slightly, her mind racing. "Possibly."

But her gut told her otherwise.

This wasn't a negotiation.

This was a threat.

And gods help him—if he thought for even a second that they would cower—he was gravely mistaken.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

Uhtred stormed toward the gates, his grip unrelenting on Skade's arm as he dragged her along. Finan flanked him on one side, Yggdrasil on the other, her expression unreadable—calm, calculated, but her every step was brimming with quiet fury.

The moment they stepped out of the palisade, Uhtred's voice rang through the air.

"Earl Sigurd!"

Bloodhair stood at the head of his men, his presence as imposing as ever, but it was his eyes—hungry, feral—that fixated on Skade the moment he saw her.

Like a predator watching its prey.

But Uhtred was not one to be outdone. He did not falter. Instead, his voice came like a blade—sharp, cutting.

"Kill one more hostage, and I will let every man here see her nakedness. And then?" He paused, his voice dropping into something cold. "I will split her guts for them to watch."

Skade let out a breathless, almost delighted laugh at his threat. She turned her head slightly, eyes locking onto Bloodhair's, her lips curling in something sickly sweet.

"Do it, Lord," she urged. "We will see each other in the next life."

Yggdrasil had heard enough.

Her lips parted, and when she spoke, her voice was steady, unwavering, edged with something dangerously mocking.

"You are outnumbered, Sigurd," she called out, her piercing gaze locked onto the warlord. "Why make a spectacle of yourself when the outcome is already written? You are a fool if you think this will end in your favor."

Bloodhair's nostrils flared.

The man was too proud, too arrogant to be reasoned with.

And Skade—Skade knew it.

She turned her head to Uhtred, eyes blazing with defiance, and before anyone could stop her—

"BLOODHAIR, ATTACK!"

Her voice sliced through the air like a dagger, a siren's call, wild and reckless.

Uhtred's patience snapped.

Without hesitation, he ripped her back by her hair, forcing her to stumble, and Yggdrasil could see the silent conversation that passed between them in that moment. A warning. A command.

Stay quiet.

But Yggdrasil had no patience for the witch's games.

Skade's screams still rang in her ears, her wails filling the air like a foul omen. Yggdrasil had spent enough of her life surrounded by the mad and the desperate. She would not let this wretch drive them all into ruin.

Her movements were swift, effortless.

In one fluid motion, she reached back, gripping one of her two thick braids—the weight of the silver adornments at the ends heavy in her hand—and swung.

The impact was brutal.

The silver decorations struck Skade's ribs with a resounding crack, forcing a gasp of pain from the woman's lips. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the ground, her breath coming in ragged pants.

For the first time—Skade was silent.

Yggdrasil exhaled, eyes dark as she stared down at her. Then, with a quiet, deadly tone, she whispered,

"Scream again, witch, and I will make sure your next breath is your last."

Silence.

And then—

A slow smirk crept onto Yggdrasil's lips as she lifted her gaze, meeting Bloodhair's enraged expression.

"Is this the seer you so desperately worship, Sigurd?" she taunted, tilting her head mockingly. "The one writhing in the dirt like a wounded animal?"

She could see the fury darkening his features, the way his grip tightened around his sword.

Good.

Let him seethe.

Let him burn.

Uhtred stood firm, his smirk sharp as a blade, eyes glinting with a predator's amusement.

"I have in mind to kill her," he taunted, letting his voice ring loud enough for Bloodhair's men to hear. "If I tire of her."

Skade coughed, breathless from pain, but even then, her defiance was venomous.

"He cannot, Lord!" she shrieked, voice hoarse. "He's cursed!"

Yggdrasil had heard enough.

A low, guttural hiss escaped her lips, her body tensing like a beast ready to strike. The air around her shifted, cold, sharp—dangerous.

Her fangs bared for just a fraction of a moment.

Skade froze.

For the first time since they had dragged her out, the witch did not mock, did not sneer. She looked down, shoulders stiff.

Yggdrasil saw it then.

Fear.

A slow, knowing smirk curled onto her lips.

So, even the mad witch knows when to cower.

Uhtred, unbothered by Skade's theatrics, shoved her forward, making her crumple onto the dirt. Without hesitation, he brought his boot down hard—a brutal kick to her ribs.

Skade screamed.

"Bloodhair!" she wailed, desperate. "Kill them all!"

Bloodhair's rage was palpable. He took a step forward, his voice a snarl. "You will not harm her again!"

Uhtred glanced at Yggdrasil, their silent understanding immediate.

She took Skade by the arms, rough, unrelenting, her grip like iron. The witch struggled, but Yggdrasil held her firm, keeping her locked in place. The woman could do nothing more than stand still and breathe.

Uhtred turned back to Bloodhair, voice steady, almost mocking.

"The price has risen." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You will spare the hostages. Free them. Send them across the Burh."

Bloodhair's jaw clenched.

He stepped closer, his entire presence vibrating with fury. "What I will do," he spat, "is feed you your own cock. Release her."

Uhtred simply nodded to himself, pursing his lips as if considering. Then, with casual indifference, he said,

"Yggdrasil?"

She hummed, still gripping Skade's arms.

"You can kill her."

And just like that—Skade screamed.

Not in pain.

Not in anger.

In pure, unrelenting terror.

Yggdrasil's eyes shifted—her irises turning golden, glowing, burning like molten fire.

The power thrummed through her veins, an ancient force awakening at her brother's command. Her presence darkened, the very air around her turning thick, suffocating. The ground seemed to hum beneath her feet.

Skade wailed, body writhing against Yggdrasil's hold, as if her very soul was being crushed under an unseen force. Her voice cracked with hysteria, pain laced in every breath.

Bloodhair paled.

Just for a second.

A tiny crack in his mask.

But Yggdrasil saw it.

"Don't."

His voice was quiet now, stripped of arrogance.

Uhtred met his gaze, unyielding, merciless. "You have until sunset to free the hostages," he declared. "Or your witch will die."

The weight of the words settled over them like an unspoken promise.

Then, just as suddenly as it began—Yggdrasil stopped.

The glow in her eyes dimmed, the suffocating air dissipating. Skade collapsed like a lifeless ragdoll, gasping, shaking, a shadow of the woman who had stood proud only moments before.

Uhtred yanked her back up, dragging her toward the gates with a brutal grip. Finan and Osferth followed, never once looking back.

But Yggdrasil?

She did turn back.

Because Bloodhair's voice rang one last time.

"The daughter of Ivar the Boneless will forever be a monster!"

The words hung in the air like a curse, like an omen.

Yggdrasil stilled.

And then, slowly, she turned—golden eyes flashing once more, her gaze cold yet behind it there was hidden the little girl she was the first time someone called her that.

"You should pray, Sigurd," she murmured, her voice low, lethal. "That I won't meet you in battle"

Then, without another word, she followed her brother through the gates.

The gates slammed shut behind them.

Yggdrasil let out a slow, trembling breath as the witch was dragged back to her prison. Her back met the rough wood of the palisade wall, and she rested her head against it, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

The battle was far from over.

Her hands—shaking.

She opened her eyes and stared down at them, watching the way her fingers trembled as if something inside her was breaking. She clenched them into fists, nails digging into her palms.

No one could know.

No one would know.

This power, this curse, it was killing her slowly.

And yet, she would tell no soul.

Inside the chambers, Alfred stood uneasy, fingers twitching over the wooden table before him.

Uhtred strode in, Yggdrasil beside him, their presence commanding as the firelight flickered across their faces.

"We need to change our strategy, Lord," Uhtred stated, voice edged with urgency. "We cannot wait for him to attack because he will not. Her value is greater than I first thought. He will wait for as long as it takes."

Yggdrasil gave a sharp nod, her golden eyes narrowing. "He knows she is power, and power is worth more than blood. But if we wait, we play into his hands. He will not grow weaker—only more desperate."

Alfred's gaze flickered toward her, unreadable. "Aethelred and the Mercians will be close."

"They will be seen," Yggdrasil confirmed.

Uhtred began pacing, mind working fast. "But we must stop them on the road. I can send Finan to do just that, and then we must join them. We must choose the place for battle."

Yggdrasil stepped beside Finan, her voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into her bones. "But we must act quickly, Lord. While his blood still runs."

Alfred nodded.

And yet, Yggdrasil barely heard him anymore.

She could feel it—the slow, gnawing drain creeping into her limbs, whispering at the edge of her mind. The weight of her own power was suffocating her, burning her from the inside out.

If she stood here any longer, she feared her legs might give out.

She needed rest.

Gods, she needed it.

But the moment she turned to leave, a voice—his voice—made her halt.

"Lady Yggdrasil."

Her shoulders stiffened. A sigh of pure frustration left her lips before she even turned around.

"What do you want, Aethelwold."

A smirk curled onto his lips, oily, knowing. "Oh, nothing much," he mused, stepping closer. "Just wanted to say how... impressive it was to see your abilities in person."

Her stomach twisted.

She knew where this was going.

"It seems the apple does not fall far from the tree, now does it?"

Yggdrasil froze.

Aethelwold saw it—the flicker in her eyes, the brief moment of hesitation, of fear.

And so, he pressed forward. "You are your father's daughter, Yggdrasil."

Her breath hitched. No.

Not that.

She fought to keep her expression stone-cold, but her eyes—**her traitorous, betraying eyes—**said otherwise.

Aethelwold chuckled darkly, his voice low, taunting. "Blood of a beast will always prevail, will it not? And no matter how hard you try to hide it... Yggdrasil, you are a tool made for killing. A monster."

Her heart pounded.

No.

Her fists clenched so tightly, her nails cut into her palms. Tears threatened to burn her eyes, but she refused. Refused to break in front of him.

"You don't know me," she whispered, voice trembling, barely holding together.

Aethelwold smirked. "Oh, but your eyes betray you, Yggdrasil."

Her breath shattered.

She turned sharply, storming away, her chest aching with a feeling she couldn't name.

No. No, no, no.

I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

But the words felt hollow.

A shadow moved behind her.

Sihtric.

She barely noticed him following until his voice—soft, concerned, terrified for her—broke through the noise in her head.

"Lady? Has something happened?"

She didn't stop walking.

"Sihtric, go tend to your duties. I do not need help now." Her voice was strained, shaking at the edges.

But Sihtric didn't budge.

"Lady, I-I heard..."

She stopped.

Her entire body went still.

The word rang in her mind. Lady.

How could she be a lady when she was nothing more than a monster?

Slowly, she turned around.

Her eyes were wet.

"Sihtric," she whispered, voice breaking, "when I said you were too good for me, I meant it with my whole heart."

His world shattered.

Pain. That was all he could feel as he watched her—this woman who was stronger than any warrior he had ever known—stand before him with tears in her eyes.

"Lady, I do not understand—"

"You heard what he said, Sihtric," she cut in, her voice sharp and broken all at once. "You heard him."

Sihtric clenched his jaw. His hands itched to reach for her, to wipe away those tears, to destroy anyone who dared put them there.

"Sihtric..." she whispered, inhaling shakily. "I am my father's daughter. I am a tool for killing, as he said it... and he's not wrong."

Her lips trembled.

"You treat me as if I were someone better than that. Why? You barely know me."

Sihtric's chest ached.

He wanted to scream, to argue, to tell her she was so much more than what that bastard Aethelwold spewed.

But instead, he only stepped closer, eyes soft, pleading.

"I know enough, Lady"

Yggdrasil's breath caught in her throat.

"I know you are fierce, and loyal, and good," Sihtric said, his voice low, raw with emotion. "I know that when you fight, you do not fight for power or for blood—you fight for those you love."

She looked away, her throat burning.

"And I know," he murmured, softer now, "that whatever poison he planted in your mind—it is a lie."

Silence.

Yggdrasil swallowed thickly, her body trembling, so desperate to believe him.

But the shadows of her past loomed over her like a curse.

She turned away. "Go, Sihtric."

And then she was gone, disappearing into the cold halls, leaving Sihtric standing there, staring after her with a heaviness in his heart.

He had endured many wounds throughout his life, but seeing her tears?, was the words wound of all.

Because for all her strength, for all her fire—she didn't see what he saw.

And gods, he would make her see it.

#sihtric kjartansson x oc #sihtric fanfic #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom

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anoncat6 · 2 years ago

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PETRICHOR | sihtric x oc | part twelve

part one

12. tidman, thyra, and a fire

They had rowed back to Coccham, retaking Gisela’s hall and home without a shed of blood. The Bishop Erkenwald was now leaving for Winchester, and upon Uhtred’s orders they were to join him, pretending to act as a guard. He and Osferth would follow soon after they killed Skade, and minus one curse.

Arriving at Winchester, Steappa had allowed them to enter, though not before a tedious delay. Sihtric, Finan and Ghylena now stood at the stables.

“Is that Aethelwold the sword-Dane I see?” Finan mocked, “Looks like you’ve mislaid an eye.”

“I see you perfectly, Finan. Though I do not see your master.” “Unsurprising.” Ghylena muttered.

“Uhtred. Where is he?” Aethelwold’s face was marred and grisly, but Ghylena thought he looked just as ugly as he always had.

“Standing at your blind-side, perhaps.” Finan threw, and Sihtric huffed a laugh.

Moving on towards the steps to the palace, Ghylena moved to approach the Bishop Erkenwald.

“Bishop!” She put on a sickeningly sweet voice, “Bishop, pardon me, but I heard from the men that there is to be a wedding?” “Edward is to marry, yes. A sweet girl, like yourself.”

Ghylena smiled wider, hoping to hide the disgust in her eyes, “Yes, of course. Only it is that I love a good wedding— I myself have found great peace in my marriage. I was wondering if it would be acceptable were my friends and I to stay a short while? Just long enough to enjoy the celebrations, Lord, that is all.”

The Bishop nodded, falling for her supplication, “You are welcome, Lady, I’m sure, as are your people.”

“Many thanks to you, Bishop.” Ghlyena smiled as serenely as she could as the man walked away.

Finan and Sihtric approached behind her then.

“Laying it on a bit thick, weren’t we?” An Irish accent lilted.

Ghylena’s bare grin dropped, her cheeks aching as she snipped, “Do you want the plan to work or not, Finan?”

Sihtric stood in front of her now, a small bouquet of pleasant flowers in hand. She sent him a questioning look, but his only reply was to reach into her hair and place the delicate flowers throughout her braids. She stared at him in awe.

“Awk, ye wee sap.” Finan feigned disgust, before being jumped by the unforeseen arrival of Osferth.

“Walk with me, Lena. We are not needed for this part.” Sihtric suggested, tucking the last bloom behind her ear.

Still entranced by her thoughtful husband, Ghylena about managed a nod before he smirked— enjoying his effect on her— and dragged her away by the hand.

They had been walking and talking for most of the evening, and now night had come, and still they basked in each other’s presence, content in their brief peace.

Emerging from a side street back into a main line, Sihtric was the first to spot Aethelwold and his men as they strutted towards Beocca’s house.

Turning to look down at her, Sihtric kissed Lena’s forward before ushering her forward, “Go, follow them, go!”

Nodding, Lena dashed after them, throwing a look behind her to see Sihtric running to alert Finan and the rest of their men. Resting her hand lightly at her stomach, Ghylena followed Aethelwold’s band through the roads until they came upon Beocca’s house.

Pyrlig appeared then, standing between the horde and their target.

“If it is not the disgraced, yet forgiven Lord Aethelwold, sword drawn. You have stopped, I see, outside this house. ”

“You should show a little respect, Father Pyrlig.” Aethelwold simpered.

Pushing through the cloaked men, Ghylena stood herself beside Pyrlig.

“I believe it is you who should show some decorum, Lord Aethelwold. Or did Alfred take your manners as well as your eye?”

“You would let a woman stand with you as an equal, Pyrlig?” Aethelwold simpered.

“I would let this woman stand for me any day, which is more than I can say for you, Lord.”

“Father,” Lord Sigebriht spoke now, “There is an outlaw walking free.”

Pyrlig pretended to be afraid, looking from side to side as he replied, “An outlaw? Who?”

“It is not your place to ask.” Aethelwold looked away.

“And it is not your place to raid someone’s home, Lord.” Ghylena declared.

Soon after this, Beocca came out of his home, with Aethelwold surrounding the house with his men before Sihtric arrived with their back up. Thyra exited the home then, settling the dispute by allowing the men to enter and search.

“Beocca, I have been listening. If these men wish to look inside our home, then we should allow it. We have nothing to hide, nothing at all. Please, come inside, Aethelwold.”

After searching the building and coming up with nothing, the men left; Uhtred hidden under the floorboards in an emergency ditch built by Thyra.

Father Beocca spoke as Aethelwold left, “Where in God’s name is he?”

A man had harassed Thyra in the streets, she came home crying, and Hild had been the first to notice. Not soon after, Beocca had exploded into the streets, Uhtred and his warriors following close behind.

Beocca was red-faced, enraged and chewing at the bit.

“TIDMAN! I’m looking for a rat named Tidman!” Beocca yelled, “Are you Tidman? I asked, are you Tidman?”

Aethelwold appeared then, always popping up where he’s not wanted.

“Father Beocca, good morning. And Uhtred, free man of Wessex.”

“I’m looking for a man named Tidman. Does the coward belong to you?”

“He does not.” “I am not a coward,” the lump on the bench spoke then, a great big shit of a man who’s mouth was too big for his jaw, “What is it you want, priest?”

Eyes lit with excitement, Ghylena couldn’t wait to see the priest hit him.

“What I want, oaf, is for you to heed my warning. Speak to or go near my wife again and I shall beat the shit from you! It is a promise.” “I called your woman a Dane, is that… is that not what she is?”

“Have you not understood me?” Beocca leaned closer, “You don’t appear to be the cleverest of men.”

“Do you speak to me as a man or a priest?” Tidman’s teeth were yellow, if not brown.

And then Beocca pounced, head butting the man and roaring “Does that answer your question!? DOES IT?!”

Ghylena laughed, wide-mouthed and whole-heartedly giggling with joy at the sigh of Tidman’s comeuppance. She stood behind them all, leaning against the wall now with her hands on her hilts, watching the magic unfold. Since Osferth’s news of Skade’s death, Ghylena felt lighter and more alive, as if the clouds had finally parted on a crisp winter morning.

The men moved to pull Beocca off Tidman, but Ghylena could see Sihtric smiling, unable to hide his mirth at the shock of a priest beating a man.

When Beocca lied and claimed to be calm only to lunge for him again, giving Tidman a bloody nose and straw-covered back, Ghylena felt herself glowing with pride and satisfaction.

Good, she thought, Show them that Thyra is not unprotected.

Alfred died the next day.

Being that Beocca had to be at the front of the hall, performing the funeral rites, Ghylena had offered to kept Thyra company and as such, was now stood beside her friend, enduring the same intolerable pestering as she from the rat Tidman.

Shoving into their backs, Tidman kept his voice low, unwilling to create a fuss. It was only for Ghylena’s respect for the dead that she did not turn around to break his nose.

“You Danes should not be here.” He hissed.

Seeing Thyra’s anxiety, and feeling extremely uncomfortable herself, Ghylena took her by the hand and silently led her from the hall.

Once outside the doors, she spoke, “Let’s just take you home, hm?”

Smiling in thanks, Thyra still seemed unsettled as she replied, “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

When they had come within sightline of the home, Tidman made his presence known, throwing rocks and insults at their backs. Unwilling to frighten Thyra more, Ghylena simply grit her teeth and ushered her to the house.

“Come Thyra, get inside and I will handle him. Bolt the door, hide.”

Rushing to the house, Ghylena managed to push Thyra through the doorway, right before turning around into the stinking presence of Tidman. She hadn’t realised how close he had been behind them, gasping in shock and instantly regretting it whenever she inhaled a lungful of his sweat and stench.

Schooling her expression, Ghylena turned her head up to look him in the eye, and felt her stomach roll at the hungry look in his eyes.

He was so close to her that if she lifted her arm in front of her it would be touching his chest, and she felt trapped. Having just been at the palace, she was weaponless, forced to leave her daggers outside the hall before entering.

Tidman clearly had secured his own weapons before stalking them.

“Come no closer!” She couldn’t help the waver in her voice, realising that no-one knew where she was and that she might need help.

“Little Dane wants to play hero, does she?” Tidman snorted.

“Little Dane would drop you to your knees in the square, shit-stain.” His insults had gotten to her, raising a flare of her temper in defiance of her fear.

Suddenly, he shot forward, invading her space and forcing her to back into the door.

He smirked, and his rotten breath stank. “Not so feisty now, are we?”

Ghylena steeled herself, tilting her head before suddenly punching him in the gut and trying to run under his arm.

She nearly made it, 2 paces behind him before he reached around and caught hold of her hair, still with Sihtric’s flowers braided through it.

A yelp of pain shot from her as he yanked her backwards, fisting his fingers against her scalp before throwing her to the ground.

Wincing from pain and gasping for air after being winded, Ghylena took one second too long to recover, and then he was on top of her. A growl of frustration left her as he held her arms down, legs on either side of her waist and pinning her with his weight.

“Bastard!” She yelled, spitting in his face with precision.

Her saliva dripped from his eye now, and apparently she had finally broken his inflated ego, making him give up on trying to harass her.

Using his grip on her hair to slam her skull into the floor, he brutally knocked her out before climbing off of her.

Spitting on her unconscious body, he turned to Thyra’s home, and left with one hushed promise.

“I’ll come back for you after I’ve had the redhead.”

The heat and noise was what roused her.

Ghylena slowly dragged her eyes open, head pounding and confused as to where she was.

Searing flames roared around her, and the yells of desperate men rang into the night.

Pushing herself up from the ground, Ghylena steadied her feet beneath her before moving away from the burning house as fast as she could.

What in holy hells happened? How did I end up here? She thought.

Fumbling away from the smoke, Ghylena heaved clean air into her lungs as her hand raised to her head, confused by the sticky feeling on her skin.

She winced, pain splicing her head as her fingers came away bloody.

Staring at the red, her memory came rushing back to her in that moment.

Tidman.

Thyra.

Was Thyra alright? Was she still in the house? Ghylena turned to the fire again, face growing in horror as the building was engulfed, and began to crumble.

Still dizzy, and with a thumping headache, Ghylena didn’t hear Sihtric when he first ran to her. Only when he turned her by the shoulder to face him, looking her in the eyes and shaking her from her horrified stupor, did she hear him.

“Lena! Lena, what happened?! You’re bleeding?” He was frantic.

Shaking her head, she could only choke out one word, “Thyra.”

Finan came running then, joining the men who were desperately trying to fight the blaze, but it was hopeless. The thatched roof of the porch dropped to the ground then, as Finan asked for Thyra’s whereabouts. Lena started to cry then, helpless dread eating at her stomach.

Thyra was still inside, trapped in a death that Ghylena helped create.

The fire only burned hotter.

-> up next: 'ambush in the forest'...

Tags: @travelingmypassion

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

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