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thenameswinterfics · 2 months ago

Text

CAOINEADH

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Banshee!Reader Settings: Season 2, brief mention of moments from S3 to SKMD Summary: While wandering outside Dunholm with his mother, Sihtric is visited by a creature whose presence brings terrible news to his family. Years later, the Banshee returns to the mortal lands and Sihtric, now grown up and in the service of Uhtred, faces the consequences of a bad omen. But the tragedy also brings them closer together. Word Count: 5,2 K Warnings: Angst, mention of blood, mention of death, mention of main character death(s), human/monster romance, hopeful ending? , me writing Finan's Irish accent. A/N: After a long time, I'm back to writing for my favourite Dane rat boy. I'd somehow forgotten how much I loved and enjoyed writing for him, especially after a period of putting him aside for a while. This feels like I'm republishing a fic of his for the very first time, so I'm terribly nervous. I hope you like and enjoy it. If you find the ending a bit rushed, I'm sorry. I finished it while it was late at night in my timezone, and everything will be fixed eventually when I'm awake and more aware of my actions. Many thanks to @foxyanon , @legitalicat and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with the Banshee lore, for writing Finan's accent, for the emotional support, for the beta reading and last minute corrections, and to @sylasthegrim for the early beta reading and emotional support as well.

This fic is my entry and first submission to the Fan-Frankentober event, organized by @fandomeventcenter. Here the masterlist to take a look at the other works.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by me (template by @zaldritzosrose) Dividers by me and @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3 (COMING SOON)

Caoineadh: Irish and Scottish Gaelic pronunciation of "keening" (to cry, to weep); traditional form of the vocal lament for the dead in the Gaelic tradition.

By the time Sihtric stopped running, he had no more memory of the place he was in.

His hands, clenched into small fists, rubbed his tired eyes as he tried to scan the surroundings, looking for any detail that might help him orientate himself in the unknown space. He could not recognize the long tree trunks rising from the ground, their dry branches seeming to touch the twilight sky as he watched the sun's rays filter through the few remaining canopies.

The place was eerily quiet, the sound of the wind blowing and moving the branches and leaves on the ground the only sound to break the surreal yet disturbing atmosphere. He felt a shiver run down his spine and the little Dane suddenly hugged his shoulder, as if to hide his head between them like a turtle.

It was one of the few times he and his mother had left the strong walls of Dunholm together, Sihtric enjoying the fresh air of the forest while Elflaed was busy gathering flowers and herbs that he had little interest in. Sometimes his curiosity would get the better of him, his big, mismatched eyes fixed on Elflaed's wooden basket and how many herbs she had managed to gather. When his mother felt his eyes on her, she would patiently stop picking and crouch down beside him, patiently explaining what she was doing as she wrapped his small body around her, only to see her son wriggle out of her embrace soon after and play with small sticks nearby.

Sihtric was usually a quiet and obedient child: when his mother asked him to stay close to her, he obeyed without a fuss. That day, however, something caught his attention, a heartbreaking wail that filled his ears and shook his heart: it was a gentle but sad song that carried pain and sorrow, hiding a sense of concern and care towards to whom it was addressed. Armed only with a small stick and with curiosity teasing him, Sihtric dared to disobey his mother for the first time, and entered into the woods while leaving his mother behind.

And there he was, lost in an unfamiliar place, with nothing to defend himself but a small stick. He was too young to call himself a warrior, barely able to hold a knife, let alone wield a sword that was too heavy for his tiny hands and a shield properly. Hiding and fleeing was the only option he could take in case of real danger, for he had spent his whole life hiding from the wrath of his cruel father; but the surroundings would make the task impossible, as the tall and twisted trees casted long shadows, and the undergrowth cracked with every step he could take.

Suddenly, the silence of the forest was broken by the same sorrowful chant that dragged him in the deep of the woods. Holding his wooden stick in his hands, Sihtric moved carefully in the direction of the voice, trying not to make noise while the ground cracked beneath his feet.

The walk was short, and he found himself in front of a small lake he had never seen before. Squatting on the bank was a young lady in a blue gown, her black hair cascading down her shoulders like pitch-black watercourses, giving the little boy her back as she continued to sing her lament. Sihtric could hardly understand what she was doing, her head almost hidden beneath her shoulders, her hands working frantically to move the water in small ripples.

Holding his breath and trying to be as quiet as a mouse, Sihtric crept up behind her, lifting his small head and trying to find the right angle where he could see what she was doing underwater. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, fear and anticipation creeping into his bones as he felt the keening close to him, the chanting drawing him in even if he couldn't understand it. But as he crept closer, something beneath his boots cracked softly, and the sound was enough to make the lady turn and show her face to the boy.

It was the first time he met you.

Sihtric watched with frightened eyes as your icy blue gaze locked on his and a low hiss escaped your mouth, your pale complexion adorned by scarlet tears rolling down your eyes. Behind you, piles of clothes lay scattered on the grass, others dripping in the water that had lost its transparency and had become muddy with blood.

The little Dane found the strength to stand up and try to run away, but he soon fell, tripping over a stone behind him. Your ghostly presence, now calmed down after the initial fright, lightly approached him and crouched down. One of your slender hands rested on his cheek, your touch as cold as the death itself. But the words that came out from your lips were way colder, breaking the silence with your voice as soft as the silk but sharp as a piece of glass.

“She cannot escape to the Other World.”

“She?” “Escape from what?” “What is the Other World she is talking about?” These were the words that filled the boy's mind, filled with nothing but fear and the coldness of your touch. But soon Sihtric's tiny body was enveloped in a familiar warmth, and two arms lifted him from the floor. It was only when warm, trembling lips were pressed to his forehead that he recognised the touch of his mother, who had searched for him after losing sight of him.

“Sihtric!” Elflaed cried while holding her son close to her. “Why were you here all alone? I told you never to leave my side, never! Oh, my sweet boy!”

The young Dane watched as he silently pointed to the spot where you appeared before him, but a cold realisation hit him as you were no longer there, gone like ashes in the wind.

Sihtric did not answer, too lost in his mother's warmth and love, and the bad omen you gave him still shook him to the core. He clung to her presence, and each time your words echoed in his mind, he sought comfort in his mother's presence, even when they left the forest and the warmth of her small hut welcomed them.

But a few days later, the opening of the Other World shook nature and its creatures. And his mother's soul was claimed after a long agony.

Standing outside Eoferwic, you looked up at the walls that surrounded the town, admiring the mix of Roman, Danish and Saxon architecture that was unfamiliar to you: you were there when the Romans laid the foundation stone on the ground, and the same souls were the first you guided to the Other World, announcing the sad event in the form of a manifestation to the families you watched over.

And you were called to do your duty again: to find the same boy you met years ago, to tell him that more of his family's souls will be claimed in the days to come. They will not be gentle and innocent like those of his mother and grandparents you guided through the other world: they were violent, reckless, stained with blood’s innocents and sins far from forgotten. But it was up to the god or gods to decide where their souls would go in the afterlife.

Your pale eyes scanned the area, and when you found a small stream where you could wash the dirty clothes you were carrying, you walked over and dipped your hands into the cold water. You watched as your fingers swirled around the cloth and the water lost its translucency, a faint reddish tinge staining it.

The night was still, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees, lightly caressing your raven locks. You continued to scrub the clothes in the water as your wailing began, your lament filling the air and mingling with the sound of the rushing water as your eyes watered and scarlet tears rolled down your white face.

As on that night, something soft cracked on the ground and your wailing stopped. You lifted yourself from the ground and turned towards the sound, and soon found yourself crouched beside a young man, probably trying to sneak up on you without attracting attention.

He was a handsome man, the most beautiful your eternal eyes could ever have seen; his features sharp, his fair skin adorned with a few scars on his forehead, eyebrow and cheekbone, a knotted tattoo crossing part of his head, his dark hair cut at the sides and combed into three plaits and knotted at the back. These were features that were strangely familiar to you, your mind trying to remember when was the last time you saw him.

But it was his eyes that captured you the most. There was pain, melancholy and innocence in them - the same light you had found in the bicoloured eyes of the little Danish boy you had reached outside Dunholm. You felt a sudden flicker of recognition, your eyes widening slightly as you recognised that lost and frightened boy in the man he had become. The years had moulded him into a skilled warrior, but the softness of his eyes remained unchanged, you noted.

You chose a cautious approach, slowly closing the distance between you. You noticed his body trembling and his jaw clenching, his muscles not moving from where he was: it was still unclear to you whether he wasn't moving out of fear or anticipation.

“It has been a long time, sweet boy,” you broke the silence, using the same nickname you had heard his mother call him. Sihtric stood frozen, partly enchanted by your ethereal appearance and your voice, as melodious as the birdsong at sunrise.

His eyebrows furrowed and his expression changed from alienation to curiosity: your figure was too familiar to him, but he could not remember where he had first met you.

“Do… Do I know you, lady?” the Dane asked, holding his breath as the silent nod of your head answered his question.

You took a long pause before answering him, "You do, in a way," you said in a soft voice that carried the weight of your grief. You took a step closer, noticing that the Dane was shifting his incongruous gaze slightly away from you, "But I have known you since you were a little boy playing spy in the deep forest.”

One of your hands reached out and rested on his cheek, the cold touch awakening something in Sihtric that he thought he had buried deep in his heart. He remembered your figure knelt near the lake shore, your icy blue gaze that penetrated deep into his soul, the cryptic prophecy you had given him but he was too young to understand.And then he remembers the mother he lost, and how it was one of the last nights they wandered the Dunholm woods together, and how after her death the Dane desperately tried to find you to explain, but you never showed again.

Instinctively, one of his calloused hands reached for yours, shivering at the cold of your pale skin. But he never pulled you away: instead, he leaned against you, finding the softness of your touch endearing.

“I remember your touch,” he murmured shyly, lowering his gaze as it briefly met yours, fascinated by your pale eyes, “It was you, all this time,” he continued, earning your satisfied hum.

“It is your family that forged our bond,” you announced with a solemn tone, absently doing circles on his skin with your thumb, “It was your mother’s souls that bound you to me.”

The mention of his mother made Sihtric snap back to reality, and pain filled again his mismatched eyes, “My mother’s soul?” he repeated in a whisper, a slight trembling could be heard in his voice, “What did you do to her? Why didn’t you save her?”

His voice broke down when he asked his final question, and the red tears rolled down your cheeks furiously “Why did you take her away from me?”

“It is not me who willingly chose to wrestle your mother from your arms,” you murmured softly, your other hand resting on his other cheek, cupping his face completely. Your thumbs gently wiped away his tears, and you could hear him draw in a sharp breath. Under the moonlight, you could see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“It is fate that foretells a mortal's permanence in this world and how their entry into the Other World will come about,” you explained carefully, as if you were talking with a child. “It is my duty to show myself to you and to guide you through the painful parts of death. Your pain is my own burning.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over you, the weight of your words making it almost impossible for you both to speak. Finally, you summoned the courage to speak again, and your next words sent shivers down his spine.

“The Other World is shaking, more souls from your family should be claimed,” You solemnly stated, and your words brought a sense of uneasiness and confusion in Sihtric.

“Lady,” The Dane lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning at the sight of you, his body trembling at the surreality of the information he was receiving that night, “I have no family left outside my mother and my grandparents,”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, amused at his naivety, "Even if they neglect you, there are still ties of blood that fate will sever."

Sihtric clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening at the memory of a father who neglected you and looked at you with disgust only because he was guilty of being born a bastard, and of his half-brother who always looked at him with the same disgust for their father. The news of their imminent deaths brought him an unexpected sense of peace, and the chains of his tortured past will be broken forever: but he would fear how their deaths would affect him, when the damage they had done was far from repaired, and the memories of his past would knock furiously at his door, reminding him that no matter how hard he worked to forge his own path, he would forever be marked as a slave.

The Dane was about to open his mouth to reply to your words when a loud, rough voice called him out from a distance.

“Sihtric! Come back here, yer little runt!” Finan’s voice brought him back to reality, forcing the Dane to shift his gaze and look at him.

“I am coming, Finan!” Sihtric replied to him as quickly as he could, so that he could face you and ask you about the fate of Kjartan and Sven in death.

But when he turned his eyes again, you were gone. And a sudden emptiness filled his heart and saddened his soul.

Later in the evening, the atmosphere within the walls of Eoferwich was playful and joyful. Warriors gathered around small tables outside, filling their stomachs with food and ale while telling stories of women, successful raids, or simply myths and legends from their homelands.

Sihtric's mind was elsewhere that night. It was common for the warriors who shared a seat at his table to see the young Dane so shy and taciturn, a pattern they justified from his earlier days as a slave in Dunholm, his eyes darting around while his body tensed at the proximity of the too many people in front of him.

But this time it wasn't the echo of his past that tormented him: it was you, your stunning, ghostly presence and melodious voice had bewitched him and altered all his senses. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, for he had seen you when he was a little boy, unaware that his world was about to collapse upon him and that he would have to rebuild it all by himself. Now that he was a young man and more aware of his own feelings and the world around him, it felt like a string pulling him towards you, longing for your touch and the way you spoke of destiny and its inexorable flow. And the mystery surrounding your figure made you even more desirable in his eyes, and he often wondered if he was facing a goddess herself.

Sihtric's thoughts about your figure were suddenly interrupted by Finan's speeches about his homeland, Ireland, its customs and its most famous legends. One in particular caught the Dane's attention, and he shifted his gaze from his reflection in the mug to the Irishman.

“I told yer tha these creatures ain’t nothin’ but an omen of death!” Finan spoke with such emphasis, looking at Clapa and the few men at the table listening to him. When he felt Sihtric's gaze resting on him, he continued his story. “Legends say they’ll appear in front of yer, sometimes washing bloodied clothes, and they’ll cryin’ and wailin’ somethin’ terrible tha will hit ya family.”

Sihtric listened intently to Finan's words and felt his hand tremble as he gripped his mug of ale. He felt all the dots connect at once, especially when he saw you washing dirty clothes and singing a mournful chant, your wailing so tearful that it filled the listener's heart with sadness. He also remembered facing you twice and seeing the tears of blood leave your eyes.

There were no creatures like you in the Norse legends and beliefs, and Sihtric wondered how a creature from a different faith could become the spirit guardian of his family.

“I found a beautiful lady washing a pile of clothes not so far from here,” The Dane murmured against his will and soon the animated atmosphere died down and he shrugged as he felt all eyes on him. His mismatched eyes found the Irishman's brown ones and with a slight nod he silently ordered him to continue.

“She was singing something,” Sihtric continued, his voice faltering slightly as he could feel the intensities of their gaze on him, “It was a lament, something so heartbreaking that it chills the blood in your veins.”

His gaze rested on Finan while he spoke his last words, “She brushed my skin and was cold at the touch. And then she was looking at me with her pale eyes, crying blood-“

“Cryin’ blood, yer said?” the Irishman asked in an urgent tone, and Sihtric nodded his head. Then he reached for the Dane's shoulder and squeezed, but not too hard: Finan knew what the wrong touch could do to a former slave, especially one as young as Sihtric.

“That woman you claimed to have seen before… Did ya know what a Banshee is?” Finan asked Sihtric, and received a shake of head as an answer. The Irishman sighed quietly, and leaned his face close to the Dane.

“Tha’s the spirit I was talkin’ about before. They’re bound at yer family and they’ll come wailin’ and cryin’ blood while announcin’ the death of yer loved ones. She can be either a gorgeous woman or a vindictive old witch. Tha’s someone ain’t to be trifled with, remember this.”

Sihtric gulped at Finan's description of the Banshee, which was nothing like what you really were. You were so gentle with him, taking care of his pain and not putting the burden of grief on his shoulders. How could such a sweet creature as you be the dangerous spirit that Finan described earlier?

“She treated me with nothing but kindness, Finan,” the Dane replied almost innocently, and the Irishman grinned at his words.

“Then ya were a lucky bastard!” he retorted in an ironic tone, gently slapping Sihtric’s cheek and returning to his seat.

The conversations continued with more stories of the Banshees and Irish legends until Uhtred broke the mood by calling for Sihtric, who obediently rose and reached for his Lord. And after preparing the final strategies of war, everyone fell asleep, thinking of the battle they would face at Dunholm and how you would draw the veil of death over their heads.

After a day of celebration, Sihtric found an opportunity to sneak out of Dunholm fortress through the small door in the east wall used by the servants. He followed the small watercourse that flowed into the forest entrance and, armed with his sword and dagger, he walked into the heart of the forest, his movements light as a feather to avoid any upcoming dangers.

Once again, the prophecy you told him about your family proved true, and on the day of the battle both Kjartan and Sven were killed, their souls taken by you and sent to the afterlife. While the event lifted a great weight from Sihtric's shoulders, free at last to forge his own destiny without the cruel shadow of his father tormenting him, he wondered if you knew the difference between your afterlife and his, and if his father's soul did not rest beside Elflaed's. The image of Kjartan distressing his mother even in the afterlife made his heart skip a few beats: he would rather accept slavery under the cruel Lord of Dunholm than see his mother tormented in heaven, having found the peace she never had in life.

Finding you would be the only way for him to be reassured and to have the answers he wanted. But finding you would also mean surrendering to your cold touch, losing himself in your lifeless eyes that stirred emotions he could not believe he was feeling. Finan had warned him to be wary of spirits like you, but you were nothing more than a comforting presence at his side, a guardian who would watch over him even if he could not feel you.

Fortunately, Sihtric found the little spot where he had found the two of you the first time, remembering the details of the foliage and surrounding vegetation. And there you were, sitting near the shore, gazing out at the shimmering water, your presence quiet and not filled with your lamentations. When you appeared, Sihtric noticed how your pale face was cleared by your scarlet tears and held his breath at how even more beautiful you were without crying, the pale rays of the moon caressing your skin.

"You came," you said with a gentle smile as you stood up and approached him.

"I thought I would find you here, lady," Sihtric replied sheepishly, his cheeks turning red as he saw you closing the distance between us. He swore he had never seen such a beautiful creature as you.

"I realised I never asked what your name was," the Dane continued, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“Names are not important for eternal creatures like us,” you explained while you cupped your cheek in your hand, brushing his skin with your slender fingers, “you do not need to know my name to feel close to me. I will always watch over you, Sihtric.”

“I refuse to believe a creature as beautiful as yours is deprived of a name that does her justice,” Sihtric replied, closing his eyes while abandoning himself to your touch, ignoring the lump that was forming in your throat.

You could not remember what your real name was, for you had forgotten it when death took you in its arms. You did not remember your former life as a young woman full of hopes and dreams, and how a violent death, coming from those closest to you, extinguished your light forever.

Ignoring all your thoughts, you shook your head and looked at Sihtric, who covered your hand with his calloused one and pressed his lips to your palm, feeling the coldness of your skin against his. It was a small gesture of affection that set a heart beating that you had forgotten you had, for it beat only with sorrow and grief.

"You claimed the souls of my father and half-brother today," it was Sihtric's turn to break the silence, wrapping his strong arms around your slender waist and pulling you close. Even though you were a ghost, you looked so real in his eyes and he was content to touch you and cradle your form.

"The doors of the Other World have indeed been opened to them," you replied, almost lost in his touch, "but for them there is another path to take, one filled with eternal pain and damnation."

The sight of his body tensing at your words saddened you, so you spoke quickly to reassure him, "Your mother and father have taken different paths in the afterlife. They will never meet again.”

Sihtric felt another burden lifted from his shoulders, and his body suddenly became light: he was glad to see that his dear mother's soul was enveloped in the eternal light of beatification, while his father was probably rotting in the depths of Niflheim, surrounded by cold and darkness, for he died without a weapon in his hands. But even if he had gripped his sword tightly with his last breath, Sihtric did not believe that Odin would open the gates of Valhalla for him.

“Thank you,” the Dane whispered softly, giving you the first sincere smile you’ve ever seen while watching him growing up. His bicolored eyes shone with a renewed life, tasting that freedom he thought he could never have in his life.

But a new realisation hit him hard, and the light in his eyes was replaced by a look of suffering: your duties were done, and you would return to the veil that separates the living from the dead, and watch over him silently but without concealment. He was not ready to say goodbye to you, not after he had found a person who would treat you with kindness and make his heart beat faster, it mattered not if that person was a creature from the afterlife or not.

“Do not go, please,” Sihtric pleaded in a feeble voice, his jaw clenching as well as the grip he had on you, afraid that you might vanish at any moment. He moved your body close to his own, resting his warm forehead on your cold one.

“I have to, Sihtric,” you explained quietly, though you felt your eyes burning and your scarlet tears about to escape. “I am bound to the spirit world, preparing families for their upcoming deaths. You are a young warrior, with life burning inside you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth his living body is giving to you, a warmth you used to radiate as well. And when you felt a rivulet of blood escaping from your eyes, Sihtric’s arms were quickly cupping your cheeks, wiping them with his tattooed fingers.

"One day, when the doors of the Other World open again and the veil between our worlds forms its rift, they will give me the call to take you, and only there will you be mine forever," you added, the words slipping easily from your tongue as you lifted your gaze and locked it in his eyes. You have never had anyone look at you with love in their eyes, not even in your previous mortal life. Sihtric was sent to you to show you that a damned spirit like you could be loved and deserve to be loved. But he was the right person at the wrong time.

“Promise you will live and wait for me until your hour will come.”

Sihtric took his time to calm down, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm the tears that were about to fall and to suppress the pain inside him. He thought he had found the right person to spend the rest of his life with, to take you as his wife and build a family with you. But he had to face the cold truth that you were not a living being and that you would soon have to leave his side.

The Dane opened his watery eyes again and looked at you with burning desire as he gently lifted your head with his hands. "I promise I will wait for you, my love," he swore, clutching his Thor's hammer with one hand, "and when that day comes and death takes him, I will be ready to go. And there I will be yours forever."

You both raised your faces to each other like a magnet drawing you close, sealing your eternal promise with a kiss that poured out all the love you both had carved out of each other, but that your time had not yet allowed. And when you reluctantly broke the kiss, you slowly turned and walked towards the small lake, your body disappearing into a cloud of mist that slowly dissipated into the air, the sound of a bird flapping its wings in the distance. Sihtric watched your disappearance with pain in his heart and watched over the lake until morning, when he returned to Dunholm to be reunited with Uhtred and the others.

Over the years, Sihtric had kept his promise and lived a true warrior's life, the once shy boy growing into a skilled warrior and confident man. He became one of Uhtred's most trusted allies and closest friends, and together with Finan and Osferth they wandered the borders of Mercia and Wessex, the Danelaw and East Anglia, eventually reclaiming Bebbanburg for Uhtred, who reclaimed his birthright and became its lord.

Feeling that you were always watching over him, you only appeared sporadically to bring him and his band of friends bad news: it was your job to inform him of the impending deaths of Gisela and Thyra while he was at Coccham, to warn him of Father Beocca's death before their first attempt on Bebbanburg fortress, and to claim Osferth's soul at Rumcofa. Uhtred was next, succumbing after a long and arduous battle, followed soon after by Finan, too old to even stand properly on his feet.

You were at his side, emptying his heart of grief as his mouth claimed yours in fleeting kisses before you went back to hide in the veil. You watched Sihtric grow old over the years, loving every single wrinkle on his face and every white hair that appeared over the years, while to him you were always the same young woman he fell in love with when he was a young and inexperienced lad.

And when he grew old and grey, surrounded by nothing but the walls of Dunholm, of which he had become lord, he felt the doors of the Other World open and a bird flap its wings, followed by the sound of a gash. With dying eyes and a tired smile, he watched you keep your own promise and claim his soul as he breathed his last, and feeling his body rejuvenated by the effects of eternal life, he took you by the hand as you reached the gates of the Other World, and with a long, desperate kiss, you sealed your eternal life together, and your souls at last lived and rested in peace.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Sihtric Kjartansson Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm @sihtricsafin @arcielee

@volklana @gemini-mama @ladyinred2248

#fan frankentober 2024 #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fanfic #tlk fic

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volklana · 19 days ago

Text

I've Always Been Yours. Only Yours.

Title Comes From This Song:

Idea comes from the ever beautiful mind of @whitedarkmoonflower

and I am only hoping I did your idea justice my love:

I had and idea of a fic about Sihtric rescuing a young girl when he's still a boy at Dunholm and then meeting her again in S3 or S4 setting and finding out she's noble and out of his reach, but then by some whim of fortune he has to rescue her again and finds out she hasn't forgotten him either.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, domestic abuse and slavery- if you don't feel up to reading any of those things please put your own peace first and you can always catch another of my fics soon xx

*Not proof read. Mistakes will be corrected*

The sound of the hounds baying and barking caused you to run faster and faster through the trees.

Your dress was ripped and your feet were bloodied but you ran with all your might.

You were half blinded by tears and you could barely breathe for crying but still you ran.

You were lost in the unfamiliar woodland terrain of the Dunholm surrounds and you truly feared that you would die here.

Hurtling down a thorny bank and splashing into an icy stream, you waded through the ankle deep water, passing under the roots of an upturned oak tree and clambered up onto its trunk to see if you could fit inside.

You could hear your tormentor's laughter from afar but you knew his hounds would find you long before he ever did.

“I will find you,” he shouted through the trees and you couldn’t help the sob that wracked from your bruised body.

And then the glowing eyes of one of the beasts that had been pursuing you shone under the light of the moon as it bore its teeth and began to try to lunge for you, your screams echoed into the night as two more appeared and began to bite at the bare skin of your legs.

You were pleading and scrambling, trying to pull yourself higher up the trunk of the fallen tree when a pair of strong arms suddenly grasped you and hauled you down, you were flailing in his arms trying to free yourself, but he hushed you with a gentle shake “It's okay, I’ve got you.” He took your hand and began to push you behind him as the beasts began to circle around you both, gnarling and frothing at the mouth.

He was armed with an axe and each time one of the creatures lunged he would strike out, he killed one and the others were wounded, but relentless.

One took a hold of your arm in its great teeth, biting down and tearing at the flesh and only released you once he slashed at it with his axe.

“Sihtric!” a voice suddenly emerged and you clung to the arm of your rescuer, “Hand over the girl,” he commanded and you begged him not to let you go, “Please, please please…” it rolled off your tongue like a desperate prayer and the small group of men gathered behind Sven the One-Eyed began to laugh, but Sihtric did not release his hold on you, despite how you could feel him tremble.

“You killed my best hound,” Sven tutted, “That will not go unpunished. Do not make it worse for yourself- hand over the girl. Now!” he was shouting. Furious that Sihtric had thwarted his little game for the evening, and Sihtric knew that Kjartan would indeed have him tortured for the death of the hound.

The standoff however was interrupted by the approaching sound of hooves and little glimmers of torch light and eventually Kjartan the Cruel appeared before you.

He took in the sight of you, dress torn and bloodied, great tear tracks down your face and Sihtric stood before you defensively, the dead hound lay out before his feet.

He swung his legs over the saddle and landed on the ground with a mighty thump, before he rounded on Sven, grasping him by the furs of his cloak.

“The girl was not yours to torment,” he fumed, shaking his son in his arms.

“I would not have harmed her,” Sven defended, arms instantly flying up in defence.

“She is harmed!” Kjartan roared and forced his son to look at the state you were in, shivering greatly as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and he backhanded his son with a force that had him stumbling back and blood rushing to his mouth.

“And you!” he spat turning on Sihtric “You killed one of my finest hounds,”

“Yes Lord,” Sihtric shivered in defeat and acceptance of what was to come and you shrieked as he was ripped from your arms and set upon by Kjartan who beat him mercilessly and bloody.

“Please, please,” you begged mustering all your strength to throw yourself forward, “The beast would have killed me.”

Kjartan swung around and for a moment you thought he was going to strike you, but the fury on his face dwindled for a moment before he spat “Better that it had. Nevertheless, you are under my protection and I will see you back to the keep.”

He bundled you onto his horse with force before quickly climbing on behind you.

“My children continue to disappoint me,” he huffed, before he turned his horse to face one of his waiting men, “Tekil, the runt is yours to punish, see to it he never lays hands on any of my property ever again,” he spat, before kicking his horse into a gallop and you craned your neck to try and get one more glance at Sihtric, but you wished you hadn’t as Tekil and the other rider were taking turns at kicking his crumpled form on the ground.

That night his bloodied body was tossed into the out building you were kept in and you nursed him all through the night, despite your own injuries you held him all night long, terrified to let him go for fear he would not make it to the morning light. Once he woke in the night and mumbled your name and you held him tight, urging him to make it, urging him to just hang on and when he reached for your hand you allowed him to take your hand in his weak grip, brushing his soft curls out of his eyes and praying to the gods that he would make it. When you awoke the next day he was gone and your heart sank a little for it seemed you had finally found a friend in this hell on earth.

For the remainder of your time as a hostage in Dunholm, Sven watched you from the shadows, tormenting you from afar, or following you down to the stream to watch you while you bathed but he never made another attempt on you after that night, but he wasn’t the only one who seemed to be keeping watch over you. Every night Sihtric would appear like a spectre watching you from the edges, his eyes were nearly swollen shut and each time you thought he would try to speak to you, he scarpered away before you could reach him. Your physical wounds healed in time but you woke every night screaming and sweating and the fear Sven had instilled in you on that fateful night would remain with you for years.

When negotiations were finally completed and the ransom was paid, you watched in anticipation as the hostages your father had taken were returned to Kjartan and then the great gates opened and you were instructed to follow your Eldermen out to freedom.

It was only after you had ridden for what felt like a lifetime that you glanced over your shoulder to the looming keep of Dunholm rising up like a spectre in the background and prayed to the Gods that you would never see that place again, but you would never forget the pair of mismatched eyes that had shown you the only real bit of kindness you had experienced there and in some ways you had left a little bit of your heart with him.

Your husband was a Jarl with small holdings of land in Northumbria, he had been loyal to Kjartan in the past in the sense that he had agreed not to infringe on any of his lands and pay him taxes, and to swear his bannermen to aid Dunholm if ever it was attacked but that had all changed when Guthred was made King and took control of Eoferwic.

Your husband swore fealty to Guthred and so the events that played out over the course of the next few years meant that your house was allied to that of Guhtred’s and in time you would come to live in Eoforwic where your husband served as an adviser until the time of the his own death.

Your husband was killed in a Scottish incursion a few years into Guthred’s reign and you wept when his lands were simply given to another Jarl who had served Guhtred faithfully, you were bartered off like livestock to marry him and no matter how you pleaded with Guhtred to free you from the agreement he would not budge.

Your new husband was a cruel man, he relished in the capturing of nearby Saxon villagers to sell to the slavers, it was an endeavour that had made him an incredibly wealthy man but one that forced the bile to rise in your stomach when you would hear the women and children cry at night. Bringing back old, unhealed wounds of a young girl running terrified through the trees at the foot of Dunholm.

One night you fought him as he tried to take you and he beat you so bloody you could not walk for days, and you had made up your mind to flee at the very first chance you were able to ride again and so after a week of only being able to move from bed to relieve yourself you bribed the stable boy to ready your horse and you rode away into the night, taking only your dowry’s worth of silver with you.

You made it precisely to the door of the great hall in Coccham before you collapsed upon its steps and the next time you awoke it was in a small cot with the lady Gisela sat by your side wiping sweat from your brow.

“Who did this to you old friend?” she asked softly, and you were spilling the entirety of what you had endured in the past few months.

You and Gisela had been friends since you were girls, your fathers, both Jarls had been great friends and distant kinsmen, so when you decided to escape the clutches of your husband you knew you would be welcomed by her. She too had known betrayal at the hands of her brother and you had hoped she would have sympathy for your plight now.

“He will come for me,” you cried, “The people are loyal to me, as they were to my late husband but they have no fealty for him, they will revolt. He needs me if he intends to rule there.”

“Let him come,” she said with a defiant squeeze of your hand, “If he dares to come he will be met with the justice of Uhtred’s sword and nothing more.”

You squeezed her hand affectionately, “You always were the better sibling,” you joked and she sighed , “I agree they should have crowned me.”

When you were finally well enough to leave your room, you began to eat in the Great Hall with the rest of Uhtred and Gisela’s household, sitting with her handmaidens and usually with the toddler Stiorra in your arms.

“Will you stop gawking,” Finan swiped at Sihtric who was once again more focused on you, bouncing a giggling Stiorra on your lap, than whatever it was Finan was saying.

“She’s a married woman,” Osferth interjected, “And according to Uhtred she is of nobility to the Danes.”

“So very far out of your league then,” Finan teased.

“I am the son of a Lord actually,” Sihtric swiped back in a jovial manner.

“A bastard son,” Finan cut and Osferth joined, “Aye, if that’s the case I��m next in line to the throne of Wessex.”

“Shut up you idiots,” Sihtric swiped as Finan guffawed with laughter and ruffled the baby monk’s hair in affection.

Sihtric watched you for days with a longing in his chest that he had never known before. It was as though he had dreamed you into life, or he had known you in some past life.

You were gentle and kind and he could not imagine what kind of man could have inflicted upon you the injuries you had shown up with a few weeks ago.

It was he who had found you on the steps of the Great Hall, he who had carried you in his arms and watched as the Lady Gisela shrieked at the recognition of her friend in his arms, urging Sihtric to place you on the bed and run to fetch the healer.

He watched you picking herbs at the edges of the village while he trained Uhtred’s household troops, he watched you as you walked hand in hand with Uhtred’s children through the wildflower meadows singing songs and telling stories, and he could not shake you from his head at night when he closed his eyes.

He wished that he could be lucky enough to run his fingers through your beautiful hair and have you sing those soothing songs to him, he wished to look after you after all you had endured, but you were forever out of his reach and he thought it was cruel of the Gods to place you within arms reach of him but never let him touch you. Very cruel indeed.

He had fetched a bowl of soup for himself and sat down on one of the long benches, eating at a pace unholy to man when he felt the wood dip as someone sat down beside him.

You smiled at him and he thought you were made from sunlight itself the way you warmed him.

“Gisela tells me you are the one who found me. I wanted to thank you for bringing me to safety,” you smiled again and he couldn’t help the shy smile that spread out across his own face.

“It was my pleasure Lady,” he replied and then his face dropped.

“I mean it wasn’t a pleasure to find you like that.” he deadpanned, rubbing his face harshly with his hand “I just mean it was a pleasure to help.”

You laughed out loud and all of his embarrassment melted away and he laughed too, “I knew what you meant,” you giggled and he thought your laugh was like music bottled by the Gods.

But the moment was interrupted when one of Uhtred’s hounds bounded into the great hall barking, while the old kennel master rushed around trying to usher it out to no avail, everyone else in the hall burst into laughter but you had clambered up onto the bench, clinging to Sihtric’s arm for dear life.

“It’s alright,” he soothed “He is friendly and he will not bite. I will not let him harm you.”

You were trembling like a leaf, but Sihtric finally coaxed you down from the bench when the offending hound was grasped by the scruff of his neck and marched outside, but you did not relent your grip upon his arm.

“Lady, it is gone. It cannot hurt you,” he whispered gently “You are okay, I’ve got you.”

You bristled at the phrase, it was one someone had told you years ago, while great ferocious hounds tore at your skin.

You turned your arm in his grasp, running your fingers across the faint white scar with slightly jagged edges, the unmistakable shape of a dog bite on your forearm.

You watched as his eyes were also drawn to the scar and realisation hit you both at the same time.

“You might not remember,” you began, voice shaking.

“I remember,” he cut in, chest rising and falling rapidly “That night in the woods-”

-”You saved me.” you cried, looking up into Sihtric’s huge mismatched eyes.

“Yes,” he nodded, and for a moment you were lost in each other's eyes, your pained expressions conveying so much but neither able to speak, “And you nursed me all through that night.”

You had moved closer and closer until your bodies were touching and you unconsciously ran your hand up to cup his scarred face.

“You risked your life for mine,” you whispered and he nodded in your hand.

“And I would do it again. I will never allow you to be harmed again, not while I have breath.”

Your lips were but a hair’s width away from his and his eyes dipped down to look at them, one gentle move and his lips would be on yours.

“My husband,” you cried softly, “He will come for me,” you admitted sadly.

“And he will die before he ever lays a finger on you again,” Sihtric rushed, pushing forward to capture your lips in his and you melted into his kiss, hand firmly cupping the sharp edges of his jaw, and only breaking apart when there was a commotion in the hall, thankfully your moment of bliss seemed to have gone unnoticed.

It suddenly made sense to Sihtric the sense of longing he had felt since you turned up at Coccham, because he had longed for you all those years ago as a boy.

He had felt it ever since you had arrived at Dunholm in chains, the only living child of the Jarl, your Father, you were taken as hostage to ensure peace and cooperation from his behalf.

He had watched you for weeks fearing that someday Kjartan would take you into the Great Hall and welp a child on you, it was however Sven who had taken an unfortunate liking to you, talking a great amount about the things he would like to do to you. You had inadvertently become his new favourite plaything and Sihtric, though he could not protect himself, had made it his mission to protect you.

He knew the moment he left the walls of Dunholm on that fateful night that he would be severely punished for attempting to thwart Sven’s tormenting of you, and he made peace with the idea long before he even entered those woods.

“I prayed to the Gods every night for you for years,” you admitted and his face crumpled “I never forgot what you did for me that night and what you endured on my behalf, although I fear I do not even know the half of it.”

“It does not matter,” he told you honestly “I would have endured it a thousand times over to prevent the things Sven would have had you endure.”

You took Sihtric’s hand in yours and smiled at him so purely he almost melted “They are both in Hel and we are here. We won.”

Sihtric wanted to kiss you again but he refrained, especially because Uhtred caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he knew he was needed back outside.

Sheepishly he rose from his seat, and you watched him rise.

“Might we talk again Lady, I would like to know you,” he admitted shyly, his cheeks tinged pink and you nodded earnestly.

“You will know me, Sihtric Kjartansson.”

It was dusk and the sky was painted pink and true to his word, Sihtric was waiting at the edge of the wildflower meadow when you made your way down, and you walked in a comfortable silence along the river for a while.

Being with Sihtric felt as natural as breathing, there was no need to fill silence with meaningless words, and you felt you communicated everything that needed to be said through your eyes alone. You had both suffered immensely and why shouldn’t you be allowed to find comfort in each other.

The first time you had made love to Sihtric right here on the river bank under the Summer stars you could not help but think as though the Gods had placed you in his reach twice so that you may know each other in this way, destiny is all and perhaps Sihtric Kjartansson had been your destiny all along.

“In another life I would have made you my wife,” he said brushing his fingers through your hair and you leaned into his gentle touch.

“In another life I would be proud to be your wife.”

And so it had begun the great love affair of your life with the boy who had saved you all those years ago.

But just as all good things must come to an end, the end arrived in the form of Guthred, his household guard and the man you had hoped to never see again, your husband.

“So it is King’s business to come fetch women fleeing a brutal husband now is it?” Gisela spat and Guhtred shrank a little under her venomous glare.

“She belongs in Eoferwic, she cannot stay here,” he answered as matter of factly as he could under his sister’s disdainful stance.

“You would have me send her back to a man who brutalises and beats her bloody?” she all but hissed “A friend you have known since she was a girl.”

“Venomous lies,” your husband spat and Gisela rounded on him.

“She was blackened and blue all over, she did not wake for nearly a week after her journey here, what man inflicts those injuries upon his wife?”

“I will not return, you said definitely, “In front of the Gods, in front of my King I am divorcing this man. This man has struck me more than three times. By our laws I should be demanding his life, instead I say before you and my witnesses that I want a divorce.”

“I bear witness,” Gisela urged.

“And I,” Uhtred seconded.

“And I,” Finan chimed, followed by Osferth and when your eyes landed on Sihtric he nodded at you, “And I.”

“I want my silver back whore,” your husband spat. “Have your divorce by all means, but I want my silver.”

“That silver belonged to my father,” you spat “You can have no claim to it.”

Guhtred remained silent for a moment and your husband rounded on him, “My King, if you wish me to accept this farce of a divorce that is my price.”

“She keeps her silver,” Uhtred threatened rising from his seat, sword hand placed upon serpent breath’s hilt, “She keeps her silver and you keep your life.”

“There will be no threats made,” Guthred warned, his household guard moving forward, although they had been forced to leave their weapons at the door, their advance was menacing enough.

“You are in my hall now brother,” Gisela warned, “You are not King in this country, and you have overstayed your welcome.”

“The Lady Gisela has kindly asked you to leave,” Uhtred confirmed “And there will be no second asking.”

Guhtred had to concede defeat and to your ex-husband’s horror, he nodded at his guards to begin their exit.

“This is not over,” your ex-husband hissed as he passed you by, but you did not have heart to listen because you only had eyes for the Danish warrier with mismatched eyes that you had freely given your heart to.

“When will you ask Uhtred?” you asked softly, walking among the trees with Sihtric.

“Tonight Lady,” he promised, “He cannot mistake my regard for you,” he reasoned.

“Nor mine for you,” you smiled softly, as Sihtric took you into his arms.

“I have nothing to offer you my love,” Sihtric smiled sadly, cupping your face in his strong hands.

“No great wealth, no Great Hall to preside over and be the Lady of. Nothing but my love.”

“Then you are giving me everything,” you whispered, “Everything that matters.”

“I’ve always been yours,” he confessed, voice soft “Only yours, and I always will be.”

“They wish to speak to you my love,” he announced, but his head was downturned, “I do not believe they deem me a worthy match of you,” he said sadly, and your heart sank as you began the climb up to the great table they were sat at.

“You would refuse us this chance at happiness?” you cried and Gisela’s face softened.

“You are the daughter of a Jarl,” Uhtred offered softly, “Sihtric is a warrier, of no wealth, no land and he must travel with me wherever the need takes us, does this seem like the type of life that would make you happy?”

“Yes,” you said without missing a beat. “Any life with Sihtric is one I would choose over any life without him.”

They were both silent for a moment and you decided to test the water further, “Have you no other objection except his lack of wealth and status?”

“None,” Uhtred answered honestly.

“Gisela, you were prepared to risk it all to be with Uhtred, with Sihtric I have never known such peace. I have had wealth and status but none of them can measure an ounce in silver to the price of peace and love that I feel when I am with him. I beg you, do not separate us for the sake of silver.”

“You love him?” she asked you honestly and your eyes began to tear up.

“With all my heart,” you answered, your expression pleading and they shared a look, before nodding in unison.

“You may be married upon our return from Winchester next week,” Uhtred decided and you were rushing forward to grip him in an embrace that you repeated on Gisela, your tears freely falling.

Sihtric too cried when you told him their decision and that night as you lay together he called you his wife, when you reminded him you were not yet his wife, he told you honestly that in everything but name, you were to him.

They came in the middle of the night on the third day that Sihtric was away with Uhtred, the hooves outside your door were your first alert to danger, but before you could even attempt to flee, they were inside Sihtric’s hut and you were hoisted outside and flung onto the back of a horse that sped away into the night.

You were thrust onto the stony ground of a makeshift camp, your hands quickly locked in chains and you gazed up at the hard faced expression of your former husband.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he hissed, “You should have returned my silver.”

You spat at his feet and he advanced on you “Do you know how much highborn ladies like you go for?” he teased, grasping your face hard and you tried to wriggle away from the stench of ale on his breath “I will make back all my silver, and more on you.”

“Sihtric will come for me,” you said defiantly, and he laughed in your face.

“By the time he even realises you are gone you will be on a ship far away from these shores never to be seen again, and your name like any bitter taste will wear away.”

You tried to retain your resolve but your stomach sank with the realisation that he was right.

“Hold her down.” he ordered his men and before you could process it you were flipped over onto your stomach in the dirt, arms pulled high above your head. The wind was temporarily knocked from your lungs and you felt the unmistakable weight of a foot on the back of your neck to keep you down and then the soaring pain of a red hot iron pressed into the skin at the top of your arm, you screamed out into the dirt below you as he pressed the iron further into your skin, your mouth filling with dirt, and when it was over and you were hoisted back up, your head lolled to the side, and you had to be held up in place as the weight of your body sagged against the men holding you up.

“Please,” you cried, “I will give you your silver.”

“Your rat boy will give me silver in ransom, the slaver will give me silver in the morn, you have nothing left to offer me whore. The S seared onto your skin is the only value you have left in this world now. Put her with the rest of them,” he ordered and you were dragged across the pebbles to a pen with other weeping women and flung carelessly onto your back. Sihtric was the last thing you thought of before the blackness of unconsciousness took over.

The slaver did come in the morning and your former husband seemed pleased with the price he had fetched for you, and as you were hauled on board and placed near the hull of the ship you could not help but begin to weep as the coastline of England became smaller and smaller until all that remained was a dot on the horizon, your former husband’s face of cruelty and delight as you had set sail burned into your mind.

Over the next few months you tried to adapt to your new life of servitude in the Hall of a Norse Lord called Arne, whose wife took great joy in doling out punishment on you.

She seemed to be intent on destroying your face and you knew it was because her husband looked on you with desire in his great icy eyes.

You thought about Sihtric every moment of every day. Those two mismatched eyes, one blue like icy winter mornings and one brown like the warmest honey amber, his tender touch and the way he loved you with his whole body and soul.

You never lost faith that Sihtric would come for you, and as much as Arne’s wife tried to beat you into submission, you still watched the horizon for the man you loved more than anything, with hope in your heart that he would come and find you.

But as the months began to creep into a year, and the leaves began to turn orange and fall, a great depression took over and you stopped eating and began to be too weak to do the most arduous tasks and your Lord’s wife had taken to beating you when you could not complete a job.

After enduring another beating at her hands she said the words that caused white hot terror right down to your very core.

“A weak slave is a useless slave, perhaps you would be of better use as food for the hounds.” Death by hounds was truly your worst fear and your screams of terror and protest caused her husband to storm into the Great Hall, where he reprimanded his wife and hauled you, though you were still howling in terror outside to where a great fire was burning as people worked on the great longboat, nestled into the harbour of the lake his home was built around, he placed you gently down and thrust a bowl of soup into your hands.

“Eat,” he commanded and you began to shake your head in protest but the look on his face told you he was not to be argued with.

“I am leaving to winter in Irland,” he said after a long silence, and your eyes rose to meet his.

“If I leave you behind, my wife will have you killed,” he said it so matter of factly, it made the blood in your veins feel icy, “And I make no secret of the fact that I desire you. But I will not take you with me if you are too weak to make the crossing and so I am commanding you to eat, every day until the boat is ready to leave in a few weeks.”

“You want me to come?” you finally spoke aloud and he nodded as though it were obvious.

“As my woman. That is your choice, come as my woman or die here.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest, these past few weeks you had made peace with the thought that you would die here in Norway, but if you could make it to Irland, perhaps there was a way you could make it home to Sihtric, even if he had moved on and married another, he would know that you didn’t abandon him and then you could die in the peace of that knowledge.

“So what will it be?” he mused, running his hands through the length of his beard and you considered him for a moment.

“I will eat,” you confirmed because that was all you could promise him in that moment.

The crossing to Irland was rough.

Two of the crew perished in a storm near great rocky islands Arne referred to as Føroyar.

You were sick overboard more times than you cared to count and most days you were wet to your skin, and at night you lay huddled into Arne for warmth, but on the ninth day the Ravens took to flight and the great boat chased after until the unmistakable sight of great rocky cliffs rose up in the distance.

“Irland,” Arne confirmed, his arm affectionately around your shoulder, “The people here are ferocious fighters like none you’ve ever seen.”

“I knew an Irish man once,” you told him wistfully.

“And what was he like?” Arne chuckled and despite yourself you smiled too, “A ferocious fighter.” you confirmed.

Arne’s cousin was the leader of Viking Dyflin, and the months you spent wintering there were spent in relative peace and prosperity.

Sometimes Arne would take his ship and crew raiding up the rivers, but you would remain in the confines of the city. Arne had not forced you to lay with him but he did not hide his affections for you, ravishing you in gifts and silver after every successful return, although you were under no illusion that he very much believed you belonged to him, and the S branded on the back of your arm was a constant reminder of that.

“Is he the man your heart belongs to, the Irishman?” he spoke into the darkness one night, as you lay awake staring up at the wattled ceiling.

“No,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper, “He was a Dane, and we were betrothed, before I was stolen away.”

“You will never be my woman,” he spoke after a while.

“Many would have forced you by now but that is not my nature. I had hoped in time you would give yourself to me willingly, but I can see now that you never will, because your very being belongs to another.”

There was a sadness to his words that you did not quite understand but you were afraid to say the wrong thing in case it angered him and so you said nothing and after moments that felt like hours he finally sighed and turned his back to you, and soon after his gentle snores filled the room.

While Arne had spent the winter raiding and feasting, you had used your relative freedom in the city to plot your escape. You spent days down at the Port, overhearing conversations amongst those tending to the Longships and you learned enough to know that no trader or Norseman would take you willingly on their Longship, and if they did there would be no guarantee of your safety or promise that you would not once again be sold into slavery once it reached its destination.

You had long abandoned hopes of escaping on the Longships when a small Knarr with a small fat captain named Skagi arrived transporting goods from Frankia and your heart nearly launched through your chest when you realised he was restocking in Dyflin and heading next to Wessex. Only two things mattered to Skagi, his ship and silver, and you had plenty of silver, and after you had promised him all of it, he agreed to smuggle you on board.

“We leave at dawn,” he hissed, “And if you are not here we leave without you.”

As soon as Arne fell asleep that night, you gently rose and dressed and took as much of the silver as you could carry, you felt a slight pang of guilt as you made your way outside. Had you been sold to any other slaver you genuinely believed you would have lived and died in his service for the rest of your life, but Arne had been kind, he had fallen for you without forcing himself on you, he had taken you away from a life of servitude and offered you a second chance and if you had been any other girl this would have been more than enough, but you had a pair of mismatched eyes and a gentle soul were awaiting you the other side of the Irish Sea and that was all your heart desired.

As you clambered aboard Skagi threw a cloak your way and ordered you to put it on and to keep your head down.

Crossing the Irish sea was treacherous and from your small hiding space you prayed to every god you could think of to get you there safely, you even briefly considered praying to the nailed God the Christians prayed to but changed your mind when the shout cried out from the crew: “Longship! Longship ahead,” and the men began to row with all their might to try and outrun the advancing ship.

You trembled like a leaf amidst the chaos of roars to row faster and the shouts that they were catching up to your boat.

Skagi thrust a blade into your hand “Take it girl, if they come aboard they will take you.”

You cried pointless tears, how cruel to have made it this close to Sihtric, only to die at the final push.

There was an almighty crash as the front of the Longship crashed into the hull of your Knarr, and you were thrust forward, crashing forward and splitting your lip on the wooden slot before you, and you thought it must be Arne coming to retrieve you, it had to be.

The clashing of swords around you told you their crew was now onboard your ship and you heard Skagi shouting like a traitor that there was a girl onboard to take her “Take her, take her!” he was shouting before his throat was slit and you gasped trying to push yourself further into your hiding space before you were mercilessly grabbed and the hood of your cloak yanked clean off, regaining your senses you brought your own sword down, attempting to slice down the man holding you however with a dry laugh the blade was knocked from your hand and you were grasped again before you realised that the man holding you was none other than Finan.

“It’s her,” he shouted over his shoulder “Sihtric, I have her,” and he picked you up effortlessly and passed you across into the stern of the other ship which you now recognised as Fyrdraca and into the waiting arms of the man you had been dreaming of every single night since you had been taken.

“I knew you would come!” was all you could think to say in that moment as Sihtric grasped you like his life depended on it.

He held you in his arms the entirety of the journey back to Coccham, repeating almost like a mantra to himself, “It’s alright love, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

That night sitting around the hearth of Uhtred’s Great Hall you relayed your ordeal from start to finish, and Sihtric never once released his hold on you.

“We tortured it out of that goat turd of a husband of yours who he had sold you to,” Finan told you proudly, “We sailed the whole way to Arne’s homestead in Norway where his toad faced wife told us he had taken you to Dyflin. We've been patrolling the Irish Sea every day since.”

“I killed him,” Sihtric said softly behind you, “Your former Husband, for what he had done to you, I put my blade through his chest.”

Gisela reached forward and took your hand in hers, “He will never hurt you again.”

You could not believe that they had never stopped searching for you and you had no idea how you could ever repay them, perhaps you never could, but that night when Sihtric closed the door of his cabin he burst into unexpected tears and pulled you to him.

“I thought I had lost you,” he cried and bunched you to him tighter and tighter until his grasp nearly hurt, “I had only just found you again, and I lost you.”

You gripped onto his back ferociously “I will never let you go again.” he whispered into your hair before his lips were on yours and all that mattered in that moment was him.

“Sihtric,” you cried looking up into his huge sad eyes “I never gave up. I always knew you would come for me, as you have done every single time my life was in danger, you told me once that you had always been mine, but I will always be yours. Only Yours.”

Marital bliss was the only way you could describe life with Sihtric. He provided for you in every way he possibly could and he loved you with the ferocity and tenderness that you could only describe as Sihtric, for he was a ferocious warrior but he was a passionate and tender lover.

Pretty soon, your stomach swoll and the healer confirmed that you were with child and you could not have imagined a greater happiness if you tried.

And soon followed another babe and another and another until you joked that you were raising your own Danish horde and in time when Sihtric reclaimed his birthright on the stronghold of Dunholm, you looked out upon the woodlands where you had first laid eyes upon Sihtric and thanked the Gods for sending you the man who would save you time and time again and for a pair of mismatched eyes that looked at you even all these years later as if you were the only thing that mattered on this earth to him.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric smut #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #volklanawrites

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foxyanon · 8 months ago

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To Love A Dragon: Part 1

Summary: “Two children, born of cruelty, one of fire and one of ice. Of old and new, by fire and blood, a story unfolds.” -prophecy spoken by Visenya after the birth of her granddaughter

Notes: I am incapable of writing one part fics anymore, so here’s part one of a miniseries about Sihtric and Rhaenerys that takes place during season 2. It’s short but I have more planned for it.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 1722

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: N/A

Part 2, Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom or A Song Of Ice And Fire nor do I own any of the images used. I only own my OC, Rhaenerys and the AI image of her.

Dividers by @arcielee and @zaldritzosrose

Sihtric had heard tales of the lands beyond the ocean, where old magic and dragons rule the land. When he was younger, he thought of them just as stories, tall tales to keep young children in line. But now he sees that they weren’t just tales. They were real. Very real.

Dunholm was a flurry of activity, his father even more on edge than usual. Kjartan wasn’t one to let many things get under his skin, but his tense stance and shifting eyes betrayed his fear. Scouts had returned claiming there was a dragon in the area, the men so damned terrified they could hardly speak. Sihtric had been keeping out of the way, before rushing to the ramparts when everyone else started to crowd the high walls.

He heard it before he saw it, the thunderous beating of wings before a massive dragon swooped down out of the sky, a deafening roar rolling across the land. He stood there, frozen in place as he watched the black and purple beast fly towards his home, his fear giving way to a sense of awe. It was only then he saw a saddle strapped to the dragon, the scaled beast flying close enough to the ramparts that Sihtric could just barely make out a woman in the saddle, her white hair blowing wildly behind her. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her laughter and by the gods did he want to hear it again.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, an actual Targaryen in Northumbria, but he couldn’t linger in his thoughts for too long, the sound of Tekil calling him pulling him from his reverie. Before he even made it to the old warriors side, he was told to pack his things and be at the stables to leave before nightfall to find where the dragon and its rider were camped at. He kept his head down and did his tasks quickly, knowing that Kjartan and Tekil were in rare form after the sight of a dragon flying over the fortress. The wooden walls could hold back a decent army, but they wouldn’t stand a chance against a dragon if it decided to attack.

The small scouting party left shortly afterward, the dust being stirred up as they made their way along the road with haste in the direction the scouts claimed the dragon flew from. Everyone was on edge, the arrival of the Westerosi royal could mean anything. Traveling merchants had spun tales of the conquest of Westeros, enrapturing Sihtric ever since he was a small boy and now, he may have to live those terrifying tales. He wasn’t sure what he would prefer, a fate to remain at the hands of his father or hope the dragon rider would show him more mercy than he’d known if conquest was their mission. He should’ve known better to put the choice to the Norns, because they always spin your fate in ways you wouldn’t expect.

They rode for a day, finding the camp with ease due to the size of it. After stashing the horses where they would camp for the night and finding a place to hide out and observe, Sihtric noticed the camp was a flurry of activity. There were people everywhere, men in metal suits wandering around while servants of all kinds hurried about to do their tasks. While the young Dane wouldn’t say it out loud, the sight of the three headed dragon banners fluttering around the camp and the idea they were spying on one of the more powerful and well known royal families deeply unsettled him, and he couldn’t foresee an outcome where they walked away with their lives.

The party made camp far from the royal retinue, Tekil and the older warriors coming up with a strategy to infiltrate the camp and learn what they could before heading back to Dunholm. Sihtric sat quietly, sharpening his axe as he listened to the words they spoke. Something in his gut told him they would have a much harder time blending into the crowd here, that this would not be a simple scouting mission. In the short time since he laid eyes on the encampment, the amount of armored and armed men patrolling the area was more than expected. This was no Saxon guard they were spying on, this was the Targaryen retinue, and there were easily more guards in this one’s household guard than all of Northumbria combined. He fell into an uneasy sleep, praying to the gods they would survive this endeavor.

Dawn came sooner than he would’ve liked, the small campsite packed quickly while Tekil pulled Sihtric off to the side and informed him what the plan was. He was to sneak into the camp while Tekil and the others caused a distraction, locate the command tent, find out who and why they were here, then meet the rest of the crew at the village a half day’s ride from there before they would all return home. If Sihtric was caught, he was to say nothing about why he was there and if he didn’t make it to the town before noon, they would leave him. A simple enough task, but one that had Sihtric nervous beyond belief.

Once Tekil’s distraction was in motion, a large smoke signal that sent just enough guards off to investigate, Sihtric was able to sneak in with relative ease. He slipped between the tents, steady avoiding those awake and working as the sun began to crest the horizon. He started to panic the longer he snuck around, walking deeper and deeper into the heart of the camp until he found the largest and fanciest tent. Assuming that was where he needed to look, he deftly slipped through the entrance, narrowly avoiding being seen by a large older man in the brightest armor Sihtric had ever laid eyes on.

The tent was separated into sections, a desk covered in correspondence and a plush sitting area in the front with wooden screen dividers hiding the big bed and a copper tub in the back. Sihtric stopped breathing for a moment, noticing that there looked to be a person asleep on the mattress and deciding to make it quick before he got caught. He carefully stepped towards the desk, suddenly very grateful that Tekil had made sure he could at least read or he would’ve been done for.

He quickly searched the mess of papers, locating a letter from the newly crowned King Guthred to a one King Maegor, talking about a potential marriage alliance with Maegor’s daughter, Princess Rhaenerys. While there was no mention as to what all the alliance would entail, there was a location for them to meet in person to discuss the details. Satisfied with the intel he collected, Sihtric stuffed the letter into his leathers just as the sleeping person started to stir. With the noises at the front of the tent getting louder, indicating the arrival of more people, he knew time was up and he needed to leave now.

Keeping himself pressed against the wall of the tent, Sihtric tiptoed past the divider and around the tub, keeping his eyes on the shifting form of the waking person. When they sat up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Sihtric nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of the beautiful woman. Her long silver white hair was unbound, tumbling over her eyes as the silk sheet exposed her fair skin, covered by some fancy nightgown that he knew was not made in these lands. He knew he needed to keep moving, that Tekil was waiting for him and lingering here any longer was a death wish. As he reached for the opening at the back of the tent, his eyes locked with two deep purple ones, a confused look spreading across the young woman’s face. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, Sihtric’s heart beating rapidly within his chest as some strange feeling took hold of his heart in that moment.

He nodded once, before rushing out and not looking back, sneaking back through the camp before breaking into a run where his horse was. The journey to the rendezvous point went briskly, Sihtric’s mind a whirlwind as the adrenaline of being seen and seeing that stunning woman took over. He couldn’t explain it, but it was like something clicked into place for him. He had no words for his emotions, but they were stronger than ones he’d felt before. As he rode hard along the dusty road, he knew his fate had changed drastically.

Rhaenerys sat in her bed for a few moments, trying to determine if the strange, albeit handsome, man was another figment of her erratic dreams or if he had been real. Her ladies maids entered the tent, pulling her from her thoughts as their familiar voices filled the air. She could hear them talking about some false alarm the guards investigated around dawn, a fire having been set by some locals probably but it had the knights on edge now. Rhaenerys rolled her eyes and got ready for the day, the mismatched eyes she had seen never leaving her thoughts for long.

They looked familiar, reminding her of a wolf she used to dream about when she was younger. Once, her grandmother said that her dream was an omen, one that meant she would meet someone who embodied a duo eyed wolf and that she would know when the time was right. As cryptic and vague as that answer was when she was a child, she couldn’t help but think how correct it was in this moment. It meant he had been real and she wondered if their paths would cross again.

Her ladies finished dressing her in her riding leathers, tying the last knot when Rhaenerys noticed a letter missing from her desk. A wry smile formed on her lips, the knowledge that she would likely see that man again when she arrived in Cumberland to determine whether or not King Guthred was worthy of her hand, filling her with a new sense of determination. As she greeted the bustling camp and new day with a smile, ready to finish this long journey and discover that strangers place in her future.

Tagging: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @mrsarnasdelicious @synintheraven

@zaldritzosrose @alexagirlie @legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @fallingintoyourlilaceyes

#sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x oc #Targaryen!oc #Rhaenerys Targaryen

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undertheorangetree · 1 year ago

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Our Gentle Sin

Dunholm

Summary: Drunken nights lead to a new lesson.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Cunnilingus. Fingering. Mild exhibitionism. Porn without plot.

Author’s Note- This is technically a second chapter/sequel to The Inn because I had some more thoughts. Again this is only the first 600ish words. Link to the full story below!

find the series masterlist here

dividers by firefly-graphics

The sound of raucous laughter fills the Dunholm courtyard so loudly she thinks she can hear it ringing through her ears. She sits perched on a low bearing wall next to Sihtric, occasionally snatching the mug of ale from his hand- her own long since emptied- as they watch some war game the Danes are playing. Finan has joined in, his arm wrapped around the neck of some big bearded man as he tries to take him to the ground. She cheers louder than she should, spurred on by the excitement of the others, and she slaps a hand against Sihtric's shoulder when Finan finally manages to take the Dane to the ground. They grabble for a moment while she and Sihtric shriek at him, demanding that he finish it, that he win, and they only grow louder when he does. She feels Sihtric's hand grip her arm hard as he cheers and she throws both fists in the air, whooping loudly. Finan pulls himself from the dirt, turning to join them in their victory cry from where he stands, which only makes them both cheer louder.

"Having fun?" A voice by her ear asks and she gasps, turning quickly enough that some ale sloshes from the mug and onto the ground.

Sihtric groans as half his drink is lost, but she could not care less.

"Osferth!" she all but cheers, wrapping one arm around his neck in a messy embrace. He laughs in her ear, one of his own arms coming around her waist. She pulls back, one hand still anchored around the nape of his neck, and grins. "Where were you? I was just going to come find you."

Admittedly, she may be a bit drunk, but he does not seem to mind, grinning broadly at her. There is something hazy about his eyes, however, and if she looks close enough, she thinks he may be a bit drunk as well. It wouldn't be surprising if he was, everyone in the fortress now must be at least a little drunk. "Looking for you, lady."

There is another look in his eye as well, one that she is still not entirely familiar with, that she likes to believe is reserved only for her. Longing. Want. Desire. It almost looks out of place on him, with his piety and his little crucifix, but she is in no position to judge him. Not when she feels the same way. She has begun to see it on him more often now that they have become more intimate, bedding one another but not quite. Desperate kisses and hands shoved down trousers, grinding down against one another whenever the time or circumstance allowed for it. Though the look in his eye is not yet familiar, she feels as though she is beginning to know it well.

Sihtric is trying to make it seem as though he is not staring at them. He is still facing forward, pretending to watch the wrestling, but she can see him watching them out of the corner of his eye. A small smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth and she knows that he will say something sooner rather than later. Perhaps she is drunk, but she is not so drunk that she cannot notice that.

Her fondness for Osferth, and his own for her, is no secret, but she would rather they not be forced to endure any teasing this evening. Her hand drops from Osferth's neck, taking his hands instead. "Come with me."

His grin widens when she pulls him away, half stumbling over his feet. They make their way through the crowd, half dodging drunken northmen until they have found a private stairwell within the castle. It's quiet, the sound of those outside muffled by the strong stone walls, the only light coming in through a small window near the roof, leaving a sliver of moonlight on the steps.

Read the rest here :)

#osferth x reader #osferth smut #osferth #osferth tlk #tlk #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #osferth fanfic #osferth x you #osferth x fem!reader #the last kingdom x reader

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scorpionrising · 11 months ago

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there is love that doesn't have a place to rest — ch. 2

pairing: finan x fem!oc word count: 2709 content warning: this fic deals explicitly with the trauma of sexual assault. while there are no drawn out, graphic scenes, it is made explicitly clear what is going on. for context: oc is uhtred's daughter and was captive in dunholm for all her childhood. proceed with caution. additionally, expect canon typical attitudes, behaviors, violence, etc.

read on ao3

“and if i would've known how sharp the pieces were you'd crumbled into i might've let them lay" –big red machine ft. taylor swift, renegade

“Why are ya’ doin’ this, Lord?”

“You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Ravna knew she ought not to be eavesdropping. Her father would be quite cross if he found out, but her time at Dunholm taught her several things. The first being how to sneak around without being caught. She did not catch the beginning of her father’s conversation with Finan, but she could surmise enough what it was about.

“Finan.”

Father sounded pained, as if the words were being choked out of him. She dug her nails into the bark of the tree she was behind to keep from poking her head out. Surely then, they would see her.

“Lord, I belong at your side on the battlefield.”

“I trust above all others, but what’s more important is Ravna trusts you above all others.”

She bit her lip to refrain from letting out a gasp.

Finan sighed audibly. “She will not take kindly to ya’ leaving me here to spy on her.”

“You are not spying.”

“Oh, I’m not?”

“Just keep her safe, and make sure she eats.”

“Lord, is that not what Gisela is for? I’m a warrior, not a nursemaid.”

The metallic taste of blood bloomed on Ravna’s tongue. A nursemaid. The urge to storm out there and confront them both nearly overtook her. A nursemaid! She wanted to scream. The last four years, she had thought Finan to be her friend—a true friend. Just as Sihtric was; just as Osferth was. She had for so long thought them equals. Clearly, he did not feel the same and saw her as a mere child. Squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying in her rage, Ravna reached up to where her teeth had split her lip and rubbed the blood away.

“She will not talk to Gisela. She will not talk to me. She talks to no one as she does you.”

Had he been reporting her words back to her father all this time? Her stomach churned. How many of the abuses she suffered at Dunholm that she spoke only to Finan of to spare her father the heartache did he know about?

Perhaps she really was no more than a child, because she had been silly enough to think of him as an individual rather than her father’s man. Anger surged through her, a defense from the rushing wave of sadness pooling beneath her ribs.

“Surely Sihtric would be better suited for the job. They grew up together, and his wife just had a baby.”

“I need Sihtric to spy—”

“Lord, you have me acting a spy here!”

“Finan!” Father’s words came out in a venomous hiss. “You will remain here, and you will take care of Ravna.”

“Very well, Lord.”

“Osferth will stay as well. Invite Ravna to train with you both. It will serve her well. She ought to learn to protect herself.”

With her father’s tone a bit lighter at the end, the two men began to walk away. Once she could no longer hear their footsteps, Ravna let out the short sob she had been holding in and sank to the ground. Back pressed to the tree, she drew her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead down. She stayed like that for some time, switching ceaselessly between furious and horribly sad.

Still gnawing on her raw lip, Ravna hoisted herself up and marched straight for town. Nursemaid, she thought with a scoff. She was no child. She would prove both her father and Finan wrong. She did not need someone charged to look after her. She had survived on her own well enough at Dunholm.

She entered the hall in a storm of rage, kicking up dust and dirt behind her as she stomped up the stairs to their living quarters. She slammed doors behind her, kicked objects out of her way, flung her boots off and across the room. It was a good thing she was alone. If her father or Finan dared show their faces anytime soon, it was likely she would make an attempt at stabbing them.

“I’m a warrior, not a nursemaid,” she mocked in a horrible mimicry of Finan’s brogue. She blew a raspberry and entered her room. “Pathetic.”

She flopped facedown onto her bed and sprawled her arms out. She would remain here until someone came to find her, and they would need to drag her from the bed if they wished her to move.

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because soon flames were licking at her skin. They curled around her limbs like scorching hands, forcing her limbs apart and clawing at her throat. Smoke entered her lungs and her vision went hazy. She was burning.

She coughed desperately, praying it would be enough to keep the fumes from choking her. She coughed and screamed and thrashed until—THUNK!

She came to, no longer on her bed, but in a heap on the floor. She must have banged her head, because it was throbbing with a large lump forming on her forehead. Quietly cursing, Ravna rubbed her eyes and grabbed the bedpost to use as leverage to stand up. The world spun, all out of order for a moment.

“Sister?”

Feilan’s sweet voice drifted through the closed door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes once more and wrenched the door open. Her little brother’s eyes did not even reach her hips, but they were gleaming up at her as wide as can be.

“Mama sent me to come get you,” he said quietly. “Father is leaving.” His nose wrinkled and he looked around past her. “I heard you shout.”

“I merely fell from my bed,” she said, running a hand over the braid she had slept in. “I am well.”

His eyebrows crinkled together in concern that was perhaps too great for a six year old, but he stuck his bottom lip out and his hand as well. She forced a smile and took his hand, allowing him to lead the way down the stairs.

Everyone was gathered down in the hall; Sihtric and Sig and their baby, Osferth, Hild, Gisela with Stiorra in her arms and Father at her side, and Finan—the great traitorous bastard. Father grinned at her, as though he had not been plotting with Finan a few mere hours before to spy on her.

“And to think, I thought I’d be leaving without a goodbye from my eldest,” Uhtred said, raising his arms out as if to hug her.

Ravna permitted the hug, but cut it short. If he noticed her aversion, he hid it well. But then, a crease formed between his eyes.

“What is this on your head?”

He raised a hand to her face and she promptly swatted it away while ducking out of his reach.

“I fell,” she said.

“Are you well?” he asked suddenly, fretfully. “Perhaps you should sit down—”

“I am fine!” she snapped.

It was rare that Ravna ever thought to raise her voice. She did not like loud, sudden noises, and the shouts of men did little to make her feel at ease. She kept quiet for a great many reasons, but especially because she did not want to frighten others as she had been frightened. Father looked even more concerned now, which only served to infuriate her further. She was neither soft nor fragile, and she hated being treated as such.

She had been thirteen when her father pulled her from the dark cells below Dunholm, but she was no longer that shivering, bruised child. Yes, the nightmares still plagued her, but if they had not stopped in the last eight years, she just supposed she would have to live with them forever. Just as she had been doing. Shooting her father a vicious glare, Ravna stomped over to Sihtric to wish him goodbye.

“Do not get yourself killed,” she said sternly.

“He has already gotten this speech from me,” Sig said. “But we both know he won’t listen.”

“No, he’s too pigheaded,” Ravna agreed.

“I will not have you two conspiring against me while I am gone,” Sihtric said with a frown.

Ravna smirked and looked over Sig’s shoulder at their son. The boy’s eyes had not been open once any time she had gone to visit, and she wondered if he shared the same mismatched eyes as his father.

“I can hold Bjørn so you two can have a proper goodbye,” Ravna offered.

Sig grinned. “He got his proper goodbye this morning.”

“Sig!” Sihtric hissed. “The baby!”

“The baby is too young to understand words, husband,” Sig said, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “Here, Ravna, you can take him if you like. He’s getting heavy in my arms.”

Ever so carefully, Ravna reached out to take little Bjørn from Sig. With her oldest friend’s son in her arms, she could feel some of her anger sapping out of her. It was hard to be infuriated when holding something so sweet and small. She hummed quietly, bouncing the child in her arms as a tiny smile crept onto her lips.

Ravna held him until Sihtric and her father left the hall together, already locked in fierce conversation about the rogues they were sure to encounter. Heaving out a great sigh, Ravna handed Bjørn back to Sig and made her promise to reach out if she needed help. Gisela had even offered her a space in the hall, but Sig—ever the self-sufficient woman—declined quite gracefully. Very pointedly ignoring Finan, Ravna marched straight for Osferth.

“I’d like another lesson on your Holy Book.”

Osferth’s face split into a grin. “Of course, Lady.”

He held his arm out for her. Snorting, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and began to walk.

“You know you do not need to call me that.”

“Oi! You two!” Finan called after them. “Wait!”

Ravna rolled her eyes, which Osferth certainly noticed, giving the look of surprise that overtook his face. His surprise did not come as a shock, of course. How often did Ravna treat Finan with a sweet smile and wide eyes? Perhaps she really had been acting like a child this whole time; well, no more of that. She could be just as independent as Sig.

“Is everything alright?” Osferth muttered.

“Yes, of course,” Ravna said, smiling and batting her lashes.

The monk’s face darkened by a few shades and he briefly looked away from her. He cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with her until Finan reached them.

“Where ya’ off to?”

“Prayer,” Osferth said.

“Alone,” Ravna added sternly.

She did not think she could bear to be around Finan right now, not with the knowledge that he would be likely reporting all her comings and goings back to her father. Would he write it down so he would not forget a single action she took? Or would he commit it all to memory and just inform Uhtred of the exciting bits?

At her unusually cross tone, Finan and Osferth alike widened their eyes in shock. It was rare she ever got snippish, and even more rare for it to be directed towards Finan. She glowered, tightened her grip on Osferth’s arm, and began pulling the monk after her to walk away. If Finan thought he was being left here to act as a nursemaid, he could spend his time with the actual children.

She led Osferth through the woods to the spot she loved so much, and sat down in a huff. There was a small smile toying at his thin lips as he mirrored her position. They sat close, facing one another with their knees touching.

“So,” he began, “why are you angry with Finan?”

“I am not angry at Finan,” Ravna said defensively, scowling.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He grinned a bit teasingly. Then, his face organized itself into something a bit more somber. “Something is clearly bothering you, Lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” she said, half blushing.

“You’re an ealdorman’s daughter,” he said as though she needed to be reminded of it. “That makes you a lady.”

She rolled her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. The air was getting warmer each day, and soon she would be able to swim in the river without catching a chill. With summer came a sense of freedom she constantly longed for. It was a happier time, and Father’s eyes always had less worry in them when he looked at her.

“Ravna,” he whispered.

She snapped her eyes towards him. Just like her father, and Gisela, and Sihtric, and even Finan now, there was a look of deep concern clouding his blue eyes. She clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the rush of anger. He reached forward tentatively and placed his hand over hers atop her knee.

“What is troubling you?”

Was it pity in his eyes, or was it something else?

“Everyone thinks me a child,” she finally said after a long moment.

“Who is everyone?” Osferth asked. “Because I certainly do not see a child before me. I see a woman grown.”

“That is different,” she said. “We are… of an age, with one another.” She wrinkled her nose and looked down at his hand covering hers. “I speak of Father and Gisela, and Beocca and Thyra, and—”

She stopped herself before she could say the last name, but Osferth saw straight through her.

“And Finan?” he asked her.

She was not proud of how her face burned in response. Embarrassed at how obvious it was, she pulled away from Osferth and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“I always thought him to be my friend,” she said quietly, ashamed at how stupid she had been all these years. “I thought he saw me as I am, not merely his Lord’s daughter.”

She was not proud of the bitterness she heard creeping off her tongue as she spoke, but Osferth never judged.

“You should not let it bother you,” he said in that quiet, contemplative voice of his.

“But it does!” She exploded, falling backwards to lay across the large boulder. “What of when I have a family of my own? When I am a mother, will my father still have his men watching my every step to report back to him?”

“I think it’s hard for him,” Osferth said. “He lost you when you were still a child, and he thought you dead for eight years, and when he found you again, you lived in Winchester with your aunt until you reached majority.”

“And that is my fault?” Ravna asked, shooting up with blazing eyes. “He did not yet have Coccham and I could hardly galavant across the country with him!”

“I did not say that,” he said gently. “I mean to say, you left his life as a child and reentered it as a woman.”

“It has been years,” she hissed.

“But far less time than you spent away from him,” he said.

She hated how he was right. Letting out a loud groan, she slumped back down and stared up at the cloudy sky through the tree branches. The birds above were chirping some absurd song, louder even than the rushing of the water below them.

“Your father loves you, Ravna,” Osferth said, a heavy sigh falling from his lips curdling the words a bit. “Many cannot say the same.”

She thought briefly of Kjartan, and the bruises he would paint across Sihtric’s skin, but what was most prominent in her mind was King Alfred. His cruelty to Osferth was an understated one. Whelped onto a servant girl, tossed into a monastery without a second thought, and never acknowledged. It always brought an overwhelming sadness to her heart when she thought of it. She reached a hand out until her fingers found his, and she grabbed onto him.

“You are loved, Osferth,” she said. “Surely you know this.”

She turned her head to look at him. His head was bowed down, the hand she was not holding tracing the cracks in the boulder. He glanced back at her and smiled just a bit.

“Now, tell me about Eve and the apple again,” she commanded. “I do not understand it.”

#finan x oc #finan fanfic #finan x reader #finan the agile #the last kingdom #tlk fandom #osferth #sihtric kjartansson #uhtred of bebbanburg #finan tlk #tlk fanfic #finan #tlk uhtred #tlk season 3 #mark rowley #the last kingdom fic #osferth x reader

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wackapedia · 2 years ago

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The Lady Of Devon

Sihtric x Reader, Finan x Reader Summary: You are a daughter of the ealdorman of Devon, you bothered Uhtred to let you join his band of merry fighters, and you live the best months of your life. Warnings: none, sad times Wordcount: 1,382

“Think about it, Sihtric, you don’t have to pay a girl if she truly loves you, eh?” You gave the Dane a raised eyebrow when he asked to borrow a few coins from you. He looks down at his ale and sighs, not wanting to hear your reprimands. “If you’re refusing me, then just say it! I don’t need to hear your sermon.” He slams his tankard against the table, startling you and Finan, sitting side by side. It is clear to the both of you that Sihtric has had enough drinks for tonight, evident in his slurred tone and rude approach.

“Maybe we should sober up a bit…” Finan reaches over to retrieve the Dane’s ale, swapping it with a mug of water, “.. before we say something we regret, aye?” “No!” Sihtric keeps his ale close to his chest. “What is she even doing here?” He glares at you, tucked in a corner of the booth. “Daughter of an ealdorman who’s done nothing significant, so now you’re pretending to be a warrior so you could be lady of Devon, when all you do is flirt with me and give me unsolicited advice?!” Sihtric raises his voice, loud enough to silence half the alehouse and turn their eyes on your booth. Finan clamps the dane’s mouth under his palm, but the damage has been done. He has said what he wanted to say. “Excuse me…” You mutter under your breath as you make your way out of the crowded room while Uhtred walks in with a couple more drinks in his hand. “Check your manners, boy.” Finan points an accusing finger at the younger Dane before leaving him with his lord as the Irishman follows you out. “I’m sorry about Sihtric, he’s just drunk and frustrated…” Finan knocks at your door, hoping to comfort you. “It’s not your doing.” You try to keep your voice stable, hiding the fact that you are crying. “What he said was true anyway…” The door creaks open, and you see the Irishman’s kind eyes searching your watery ones. “Oh, y/n..” His heart breaks as he steps in, taking in your appearance. No man should ever let you cry. “What he said was mean..” “But it’s true.” You sob into his broad chest, allowing yourself to drown in his warmth. “I’ve proven myself useless to my people; I ran away from my responsibilities; and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of him!” Everything Sihtric has accused you of is true. When your younger brother was named heir, Uhtred and his men happened to be passing by your hometown. The morning after the witan, you ran away and followed (more like bothered) Uthred until he accepted. Over the course of eight months, the exiled lord of Bebbanburg and his men treated you like family. In those months, between battles, shield walls, and Coccham, you found yourself gravitating toward Sihtric, that kind and mysterious Dane who was so fierce in battle, yet so nice, gentle, and funny when he was hanging out. You were certain he has noticed how often you prefer to sit next to him, set your bed roll next to his when you’re camping, and check on him during battles. Finan thinks Sihtric should be grateful to have your attention. It’s not everyday you have a beautiful, young, and gentle lady care for you. Unfortunately, the young Dane sets his sights on that one woman from the brothel who was very obviously ripping him off all his coin, even getting into bar fights because of her. You cry yourself to sleep that night, and Finan ever so kindly stays with you, sitting on the floor and resting his head at the edge of the bed. In the morning, Finan groans at the pain shooting up his neck from sleeping in an awkward position. Sunlight beams through the open windows of the lodge, brightly illuminating the room and the empty bed. His eyes immediately darted through where your belongings were supposed to be, only to find them void of your riding boots and your bag. The Irishman rushes out of the lodge, clocking Sihtric, who was on the way up to your room. “Is she awake?” He asks, bringing a bunch of flowers, probably for you. Finan was still too angry to give him an answer, and he was in a hurry to check the stables. This time he comes across his lord Uhtred, hastily marching back to the inn. “Where is y/n?” He bellows as Finan approaches. “Her horse is gone!” Finan snaps into action and mounts his horse, beckoning it to ride fast to catch you on your way back home. The sound of distant hoofbeats startles you on your way home. You prayed that whoever was on the way would not bring danger. “Y/n!” Finan yells as soon as he sees you miles ahead in an open field. You pull your horse to a stop as the Irishman catches up. “Y/n, If I have offended you, I apologize…” Finan sighs, still catching his breath. “You have not offended me, dear Finan.” You gave him a sad smile. “I have wasted enough of my time rebelling against my family. "It’s time for me to go home.” Finan is at a loss for words. “Please extend my gratitude to Lord Uhtred,” You begin to tear up. “And to every man and woman in Coccham. I’ve never felt so at home during my brief stay there,” You try to hold down a sob. Finan wishes to unmount his horse and take you in his arms, to tell you how loved you are, and to express all the love he’s ready to give you. “I thank you, Finan. For everything.” There was pain in your eyes as you said your thanks. You forced a smile for him, and somehow it felt like a goodbye. The Irishman watches you fade east, toward your home. Maybe your father would reconsider and appoint you as heir to Devon, or maybe he’ll arrange an advantageous marriage for you, and you’ll live the rest of your days learning to love someone. He hopes you find the happiness you deserve. The happiness he was ready to give, if only you felt the same way for him. A year has passed since your departure from Coccham. Things have become awkward between two of Uhtred’s best fighters. Finan and Sihtric would often have a random lull in their conversation, as if stopping themselves from mentioning a certain ealdorman’s daughter whenever something reminded them of her. Nonetheless, both still treat each other with respect, having each other’s backs on the battlefield and looking after each other as if they were blood brothers. Uhtred watches them and figures he should just avoid asking about her in fear of sparking something distasteful in their mending relationship. The lord of Bebbanburg now feels anxious to deliver the news to his men of King Alfred’s instruction for them to visit Devon and see how the new ealdorman is managing the land. “Where ‘east’, lord?” Sihtric asks as they journey on the road. Uhtred figures he’ll wait until one of them figures out on the way, “East.” He answers. Finan already suspects where they are headed as they move closer to Devon. The gates of the stronghold creak open as their band of ten men arrive. “Welcome to Devon, Lord!” A young man descends the stairs and greets Uhtred. The young man’s eyes shift, looking into every single man’s eyes as if looking for something or someone. Uhtred dismounts from his horse and gives the young ealdorman a firm handshake. And for the first time in almost a year, someone directly refers to you. “Did my sister choose not to come with you?” Your younger brother, now the ealdorman, inquires. Uhtred, in his surprise, twists around his band of men, carefully making eye contact with Finan and then Sihtric, who were both equally giving him an unreadable look. “Isn’t she here, lord?” Sihtric questions, remembering to show respect. “Why would she be? She left to join you a year ago…” The young ealdorman raises a curious eyebrow at the king’s men. “She left us a year ago; we thought she came home!” Finan exclaims, forgetting to show respect. There was an uneasy silence in Devon’s courtyard.

#sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x reader #finan x reader #Sihtric of Dunholm #sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #finan #finan the agile #uhtred #Uhtred Ragnarsson #uhtred of bebbanburg #the last kingdom #tlk #the last kingdom x reader

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ladyinred2248 · 9 months ago

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The Offering, Finan x Luna, Part 3

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI

Word Count: 4500

Summary: Finan and Luna grow closer as they learn of each other's pasts. New dangers are imminent. Setting is Season 3, Episode 6.

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As the crew continued their journey to Saltwic, everyone had grown silent, even the prisoners they had taken from the battlefield. Uhtred looked ahead contemplatively with an air of sadness in his eyes. Osferth slept as they pulled him along in the cart, and Sihtric rode next to Finan and Luna silently, his mind wandering to thoughts of his wife in Winchester, cursing the distance between them.

Luna and Finan had grown close during the long journey, both physically and mentally as they shared details of their lives to one another. Finan was guarded however, and did not share details of his life before joining with Uhtred. The extent of the detail he revealed to her about his past was that he had grown up in Ireland. Instead, he often directed the conversation back to her upbringing with Sihtric at Dunholm.

Luna was the daughter of another one of Kjartan’s slaves, though did not share the same mother as Sihtric. Her mother was traded to another man shortly after she was born, and Luna was left at Dunholm, witnessing the cruelty of her father for many years and hearing the story of how Ragnar the Fearless had banished him and the wrath that Kjartan bestowed upon his family thereafter. She was ashamed to have his blood. As children, Luna and Sihtric were treated as slaves and put to work most of the time, and punished when their natural childlike tendencies got on Kjartan’s nerves. The two had heard stories of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, from Kjartan’s men and from Thyra. He seemed to hold the power of the gods, a warlord of great strength and reputation.

Luna left to be on her own shortly before Uhtred and Ragnar had stormed Dunholm and killed Kjartan, and was glad that she wasn’t there to witness the brutality, but was also thankful that her Father was finally dead. Luna had been lost and without direction or family at this point, and joined with Haestan’s army in hopes that they would join Ragnar to assemble the Great Danish Army. Luna felt that the only thing in life she had left was being a warrior, and if she fell in battle, then Valhalla would be imminent, a thought that put her mind at ease more often than not. Now, her path had completely changed. Luna was proud to follow Uhtred and his men, especially now that they had discussed with her the recent events of Ragnar’s death and Skade’s curse. Growing closer to the Irishman and being his woman brought her great happiness that she had never experienced. She had never been close in body nor in spirit to a man before.

Finan held Luna around the waist tightly, his cloak around her as she relaxed against his warm chest, drifting to sleep for short periods of time as they continued along the road to Saltwic.

“Why did you spare me on the battlefield, little one?” He muttered in her ear. “You surely could have killed me.”

Luna paused for a moment before she replied.

“The gods took control of me, Lord. I’m not sure what happened. I was not meant to kill you. I was meant to be in your arms, I think.” She replied as she ran her hand up and down his thigh.

He leaned his head down and kissed her neck lightly. Luna leaned her head back, wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss as he ran his hands along her stomach.

Sihtric chuckled as he looked over at them wrapped in each other's embrace. “Be careful, you two or you’ll fall right off your horse.”

Finan and Luna chucked. “Mind yer own, brother!” She teased him back.

“Lord,” Luna asked Finan after a while of comfortable silence. “How did you meet Uhtred? How did you come under his command?”

Finan hesitated as he felt his pulse quicken. “I met him on a slave ship, lady. We were sold to the same slaver and taken to the north.” He replied.

Luna felt her own heart thud in her chest, a lump in her throat beginning as her mind raced with imaginative thoughts. He continued the story of the events that occurred on the slave ship, ending with Ragnar coming to their aid and Finan killing Sverri. Luna held his hand tightly, thanking the gods for his reprieve.

“Who committed you to that fate?” Luna asked softly after Finan fell silent.

Finan hesitated once again. “Now that is a story for another time, little lady.” He replied as he trailed light kisses along her neck and shoulder once again. It had been many years since Finan had held a woman’s embrace this way. He had the occasional stint in a brothel with the other men when the need arose, but sharing intimacy such as this was foreign to him now.

The crew arrived through the gates of Saltwic with daylight to spare. Luna felt exhausted yet exhilarated, since she knew Finan wouldn’t be leaving her side this evening. She had grown close to him on their 8 day long journey, often struggling to remember what life was like before she met him.

Aethelflaed welcomed everyone with open arms at the gates, and her curiosity peaked about Luna as she had assumed she was the Irishman’s woman judging by how he stalked around her, holding onto her body or her hand, keeping his claim on her. Aethelflaed and Steapa observed Luna’s long, dark auburn hair, pale skin, and radiant blue-green eyes as she came closer in view.

“Finan, your woman is beautiful.” Aethelflaed said and smiled as she greeted him, then looked again at Luna as she approached them.

“Yes, lady, she is.” Finan smirked. “She nearly took my head off on the battlefield though!”

Aethelflaed laughed. “Well now you finally have a worthy opponent, Finan!”

Finan smiled as he looked back at Luna. He sensed Luna’s shyness, so he grabbed her hand firmly and gestured her over closer to Aethelflaed, wrapping his arms around her waist as he stood her in front of him.

“It is an honor, my lady.” Luna said with a short bow and a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to have you. Come, make yourself comfortable and I will show you your quarters. I assume you and Finan will be.. sharing a chamber?” She looked at Finan curiously and teasingly.

“Yes, lady.” He answered sternly, gripping Luna’s side strongly. Luna saw Uhtred glaring at Aethelflaed with desire in his eyes, and she knew instantly that he had feelings for her. Luna wondered if they would be sharing a chamber as well.

Sihtric helped Osferth inside the estate, chuckling at his limp as he helped him walk with an arm around his shoulder. “Luna, help me with this monk before I drop him,” Sihtric chuckled at her. Luna laughed as she came around to Osferth’s other side to help.

Uhtred, Finan, and Aethelflaed stood there and watched the Danes help Osferth inside for a moment with smiles on their faces. “I’m glad he’s alright,” Aethelflaed said after a moment.

“I told him that he would feel my wrath if he doesn’t recover!” replied Finan with a smirk.

“Oh, he will recover,” Uhtred said. “But will you, from this love sickness?” he teased Finan.

Finan sighed as he looked at Uhtred and Aethelflaed with a smirk. “He stole her from the Dane’s army.” Uhtred continued as Aethelflaed chuckled.

“I believe in fate, and god’s plans,” Aethelflaed replied. “After all you have been through, Finan, you deserve happiness.”

Finan brought his lips together to hold back any emotions as he nodded, darkness lingering behind his eyes that had yet to be revealed to Luna regarding his past life. He gave Aethelflaed a nod. “I’ll leave ya to it then.” He said to them as he patted Uhtred on the back and gave Aethelflaed a small bow as he walked to the estate.

Shortly after their arrival, Finan and Luna received bathing tubs indoors and Luna thought he might join her, but he winked at her as he left the room and shut the door behind him, leaving her with the lady’s servants as he went to attend to his own bathing. They offered Luna clean clothing, which was much appreciated after such a long journey.

The crew joined Aethelflaed for a welcome feast shortly after, Luna joining the table near Sihtric, still no sign of Finan to rejoin her. He eventually walked into the hall, Luna smiling as their eyes met and he sat across from her next to Uhtred, him smirking at her as he held her gaze, giving her a wink. He cleans up so well, she thought as his chest hair peaked out from his fresh tunic. Sihtric nudged her with his elbow, interrupting her thoughts. “I am so glad we have been brought together, Sister. Truly.” Sihtric said to her as he grabbed her hand. “The gods are in our favor it seems.” she replied with a smile.

They all had the first truly satisfying meal in a long time with plenty of ale. The more ale Luna drank though, the harder it was to keep her gaze off of Finan, who joined her gaze every time he felt it with a dark desire glaring back at her. She watched him as he told stories with the other men, Finan being the true storyteller of them all. She observed that Uhtred would laugh simply by watching Finan’s reactions to reliving certain moments. Uhtred and Sihtric would tease Finan about his thick accent occasionally. Osferth of course was teased by Finan just for being himself, but she could tell Finan loved him. The four men were tantalizing to be around.

Eventually, Finan stood from the table, thanking Aethelflaed for her generosity, and stalked around the table to Luna. He grabbed her shoulders from behind, and knelt down to whisper in her ear. “Get up from your chair and join me,” he commanded, his accent having grown thicker with the ale.

Luna smiled with a blush adorning her cheeks as she stood, bowing to Aethelflaed and Uhtred and voicing her gratitude. Uhtred chuckled as Finan grabbed Luna’s hand and whisked her away with a few long strides into the next room, Luna having to quicken her pace to keep up with his long legs.

Finan turned around quickly and grabbed her with his strong arms, throwing her over his shoulder effortlessly as she giggled and kicked. He chuckled deeply as he carried her up the staircase to the bedchamber. “You will pay for attacking me in the clearing, woman.” He said as he landed a harsh strike of his hand to her ass as she dangled over his shoulder. She yelped and then moaned at the sting.

As he entered the chamber, he slammed the door shut and threw her on the bed. His seriousness lessened as he moved his body on top of her, looking in her eyes with a smile and she laughed. He tickled her sides, generating more laughs from her as she struggled in his strong grasp. He leaned down to kiss her passionately as she wrapped her arms around him, melting in his embrace.

“You are the most ravishing woman I have ever seen,” he whispered in her ear as he trailed kisses down her neck and chest. She sighed as she felt herself drip from her thighs, eager to quell the ache for him that had been stirring within her for days.

“Will you be mine, sweet girl?” He asked gently as he tugged down the straps of her dress. She gazed up at him with fuzzy eyes as she nodded.

“Tell me you are mine,” he demanded. “And I’ll give you what I know you are aching for.”

“I am yours, Lord.” Luna responded sternly. “Take me as you wish.”

With her response, Finan threw off his tunic at lightning speed, grappling at Luna’s dress until he drug it off and threw it to the ground. He ran his palms up her stomach and to her breasts, squeezing gently as she whimpered, then bowed his head down to kiss her stomach, coming up to lick the hardened peaks of her breasts as he kept a firm grip on them. She moaned softly and rocked her hips up to him in rhythm, back and forth as his joined the pace, his cock beneath his trousers rock hard.

He pulled away from her and grabbed her shift, quickly pulling it off as his strong arms lifted her upwards. He groaned as he looked up and down her body as she slowly laid back down, keeping her eyes on his. He stood from the bed to undo the ties of his pants when Luna jumped from the bed and knelt down on her knees in front of him, her gaze locked on his. She took a minute to admire his body, which only made the ache for him worse.

Finan felt like his blood vessels were exploding with desire, and could not possibly feel stronger for the woman who knelt beneath him. He remembered just how fierce she was in battle, yet how submissive she became for him in an instant. He wanted to pleasure her first, but she adamantly undid his trousers, handling his cock with a tight grip that made him bite his lip and groan. Oh gods, she thought as she looked at him.

“Your cock is… impressive, Lord.” she said softly.

“Lady,” he smirked, “Ya have no patience.”

“Lord, I have waited days,” she replied. “You are at my mercy as well now.”

With that, she grazed his cock with her tongue, making sure it was slick as she stroked his shaft and sucked at the head. Finan bunched her hair in his hand, feeling weak at the knees already as he became shaky. She deepthroated his cock a few times, hearing soft but deep moans being coaxed from him. She felt him get harder in her mouth if that was even possible at this point. “Oh god, yes…” he gasped as he leaned his head back.

After a few more moments, he grabbed Luna’s arms to gesture her up and she released him, taking a gasp for air. “Up,” he commanded, and as she stood he lifted her up into his arms with her legs wrapped around his hips, his hands gripping her ass. She kissed him fiercely, biting at his lower lip and caressing his tongue with hers. She had never felt so feral and in need of a man. This man.

He gently lowered her back onto the bed, smiling at her in between kisses. He began a trail of kisses from her chest to her lower stomach, Luna whimpering as he got closer to her center. Without warning, he locked her legs with his arms and placed a long lick in between her folds to her clit. She moaned at the sensation, and Finan could hear the need in her voice, feeding his own arousal. He kept that same rhythm until her legs were writhing in his arms, alternating long licks and suckling on her clit. Finally, he thrusted two fingers within her, his lips remaining around her clit, and she felt as if she would explode. “Oh, gods…” she moaned, “Lord, please don’t stop!”

Finan chuckled as he kept the pace of curling his fingers inside her, reaching the spot she could never quite seem to find on her own. Finan kept his fingers in the same stroking position, curling them firmly and slowly inside of her as he took his other hand and placed pressure down on her lower pubic area. Luna almost screamed and bit her lip to contain it, Finan smirking at her as he coaxed her to climax. “That’s it, darling,” he groaned, “Give in to me.”

His voice growling at her triggered her climax as she writhed around him while he continued to hold her down to the bed with impressive strength. She felt like she lost consciousness for a moment as a deep flush of pleasure surrounded her. She panted and whimpered as the aftershocks hit her, Finan’s fingers guiding her through them. “You are so good for me, little lady,” he muttered as he slowly released his fingers and gestured himself back on top of her.

He looked at her for a moment and observed her as she continued to let out small pants. “Are ya okay?” He asked after a few moments with a small smile and concerned eyes.

“Yes, lord, I am.” She responded as she brushed her forehead with both hands with a sigh and gave him a large smile. “I want you to give me more. Please, lord.”

He smirked and looked at her with deep desire as he began to stroke his cock between her folds, coaxing small whimpers once again that he couldn’t get enough of. And then a thought came to his mind - had she been with a man before? Surely she had, she was so naturally submitting for him. Not that it mattered to him whatsoever, he was only worried for her comfort, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it now.

“You will not experience discomfort, will ya my lady?” He asked softly, trying to slow down his pace and eagerness.

“No, lord - trust me, I will be fine.” She said as she smiled at him, nuzzling his nose with hers and holding his shoulders tightly. She was not going to admit to Finan that she was a virgin. After all, she was no saint, she had some slight experience with men. And she had talked to the women in her village frequently about relations of this nature, so she was not nervous. Or was she?

Luna suddenly put her hands on Finan’s chest, pushing him away slightly.

“Lord, you are the first.” She blurted out shakily as her nerves got the best of her.

Finan chuckled at her very sudden change of behavior.

“It’s alright, my angel,” he said as he interlaced his hand with hers. “Just breathe with me, I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Luna took a deep breath and relaxed into his embrace again. He looked deep into her eyes and kissed her passionately for a few moments as he felt her relax. He then lined up with her entrance and very slowly thrusted in. Luna grabbed the back of his neck, pulling at his hair as she stretched to accommodate him, arching her hips to his in unison. He moved slowly, watching her eyes to make sure she was okay. She moaned as she closed her eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me, darling.” He whispered as he picked up the pace, thrusting in gently but with purpose. “God.. you feel so good,” he whispered in her ear. Luna continued to feel a rush of nervous excitement as she wondered what force of nature led to this moment. She felt herself relax as her thoughts went blank, feeling strong sensations building in her core once again. She was already driving him mad with every little sound she made as he drove himself into her.

Finan paid close attention to her reactions and her body as he restrained himself from taking on an eager pace. He would have plenty more opportunities to experience this with her if he had his way.

“Fuck,” she moaned as he picked up the pace to coax her peak once again. She closed her eyes as he wrapped his hand gently around her throat, giving light pressure.

“Come on, darling” he whispered, “That’s it…Give in to me.”

Her orgasm erupted strongly as her walls clenched around him, and he lost all of his self control as she moaned his name. She knew Finan was about to reach his peak as well, and although his instinct was to pull away, she held her legs around his hips tightly to hold him against her, letting him spill inside her.

He collapsed from his elbows onto her chest, both of them breathing heavily as they held each other.

This must be what love feels like, she thought as she held him in her arms. He reached up to kiss her passionately, refusing to break from their embrace as he rolled to the side, pulling her closer and holding her tightly as he caught his breath. He kissed her neck and chest delicately as he ran his hands up and down her back.

Fuzzy thoughts raced in Finan’s head as he held her. Please God, never let this woman part from me. She fills the void in my soul and I swear that I will never let her go… I will never be the same.

Luna looked up at him and he smiled as he gazed back at her with half open eyes. “Finan, I… can’t even begin to describe how you make me feel.” She whispered, and he realized this was only the second time that she had said his name, the first time being when she had reached her peak moments earlier. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Luna,” he started, “Please be mine…please stay with me. Travel with us, and return home with me. I could never let ya go now. We are bonded.”

Luna knew that she could never go back to her old life, a lonely path of searching for somewhere she belonged. The Irishman had claimed her and had suddenly changed her life and her path. She took his hand and placed a kiss to his palm. “I will follow you wherever you go, Lord.” she whispered. They remained entangled for a while, as she heard Finan’s breaths become heavier with tiredness and relaxation.

Suddenly, a harsh knock came upon the chamber door. “Finan!” Uhtred shouted. “You are needed!”

Uhtred had been waiting for the two lovers to become silent, he had occupied the chamber next to them, speaking with Aethelflaed about the coming dangers they were to face. He thought Finan deserved some peace before everything came crashing down.

Finan groaned as he left Luna’s embrace to stand from the bed and adorn his clothing once more. “Stay here, darling. I’ll be right back.” Finan said before he left the room. Anxiety built up within her as Luna imagined what could have transpired in the short time they had been at Saltwic.

Finan came down the stairs and across the hall. He saw Sihtric seated at a table drinking ale near the prisoners. Uhtred gestured for Finan to join him, past the table and outside. Finan sighed and looked at Uhtred. “Lord, we have had a long journey, and…the men are tired. And I-”

Uhtred interrupted him. “I have heard news that your woman is desired by the Dane’s army,” he began, “So now we have another problem on our hands it seems.”

Finan looked at him, eyes wide but not in complete disbelief. “Of course, I should have known,” Finan started, “Haestan is a greedy bastard. He has your woman and now he wants mine?!”

“I am not sure that he knows of your claim on her,” Uhtred replied, “he most likely had plans prior to your meeting. I wanted to make you aware. Join Sihtric and I at the table for a moment, will you?”

“Yes, lord, give me a bit. I need to check on my woman. I’ll join ya shortly.” Finan smirked. Uhtred smiled as Finan jogged back inside and up the stairs. Finan was a ruthless warrior, and it surprised Uhtred how quickly he had fallen and melted for this Danish woman. She is surely enchanting though, Uhtred thought. Perhaps Finan will find happiness, maybe even a family.

Finan jogged past Sihtric and noted that he seemed… angry. What is wrong with him? He was in good spirits when we arrived… perhaps he is angry that I bedded his sister? Finan thought as he passed him. He put his hand on Sihtric’s shoulder, and Sihtric looked up at him with a small smile, his mug of ale in hand. “It seems that you cannot part from her for long,” Sihtric said with a smirk at Finan. Finan chuckled and knew Sihtric wasn’t angry with him, but still wondered what it was that was eating at him.

Finan tried to contain the rage he felt at the news Uhtred had bestowed upon him about Luna as he trudged up the stairs to the chamber. “Hello again, my beautiful lady…” Finan said softly as he returned to the room and closed the door gently. Luna was tucked under blankets with her eyes closed, and opened her eyes with a smile as he returned. She looked him up and down and yawned. She couldn’t wait for him to hold her close again. Suddenly, another knock came upon the door and Finan felt like shoving whoever was behind it.

“Ugh, what now?” Finan sternly asked at the door.

“It’s Aethelflaed. I was hoping to spend some time with Luna, if you’ll allow it.”

Finan groaned as Luna got up from the bed with a grin, searching for her clothes on the ground. “I’ll be right there, Lady!” she shouted at the door. She looked at Finan who had crossed his arms with a frown. “The night is young, Lord!” she said as she cupped his face and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Luna dressed and he still couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. God help me, he thought.

“Alright. Uhtred wants me to join him and Sihtric for a while,” he replied. Luna looked into his eyes and smiled. “Spare them the details of our encounter,” Luna said to him nervously as she bit her lip.

“My lady, I am no arseling.” He chuckled and drew her close to him. “You honor me with your passion, and I vow to honor you as well.” he whispered and held her gaze. He began speaking to her in Irish,

“I am falling in love with you, perhaps I have already fallen. You have given me everything, so now I give you my soul.”

Luna looked at him and smiled softly. “I don’t understand your language, Irishman.” she said softly with a laugh. She understood that whatever he had said held deep meaning conveyed by his tone and his eyes.

“Someday you might understand,” he replied as he kissed her again. He glanced at her one more time before he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Luna sighed as her heart fluttered with happiness. How did this happen? Freya, you have blessed me… how is this real? With that thought, she took her dagger off of the nightstand, cutting a slit into her forearm, an offering in blood. Goddess, guide me into this man’s dreams, protect him as he is now my Lord and protector.

She wrapped her cut with cloth and secured it, ready to head out to meet with Aethelflaed.

Tags: @alexagirlie @persephones-journey @gemini-mama @king-alfred @blkflowergrl @popsycles @devoetee

#finan the agile #finan tlk fanfic #tlk fanfic #tlk fandom #the last kingdom #finan tlk

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obvious-captain-rogers · 10 months ago

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It's kind of cute if you think about it that the way Sihtric does his hair in S3 is how Finan does his hair in S4

#they're matching!#it's the same undercut/mullet thing with the little braid and beads behind the ear #the last kingdom #finan the agile #finan #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric of dunholm #sihtric

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thenameswinter99 · 2 months ago

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Much agree with this!

And the way he was able to convey all the emotions and give depth to a character it was poorly explored in the books (it was Uhtred's story, after all) tell us how dedicated was to his character. This is the case how talent and passion together give a stunning result.

Hope he gets more recognition in the future.

Fire // The Last Kingdom // S3E10

#the last gif always hits me #I still hold the hc of him and thyra caring to each other during the dunholm slavery tight in my heart #and if he just randomly expresses sadness in that scene he does extremely well #arnas fedaravičius #arnas fedaravicius #sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #tlk sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk #3x10

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synintheraven · 1 year ago

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Guess season 2 had me really inspired because I absolutely love these 💕

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thenameswinterfics · 8 months ago

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THE BLUE BUTTERFLY

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 5 Summary: The summary sucks, but I'll try. After returning from Datchet, Sihtric spends some free time with you, and a group of blue butterflies catch your attention. Word Count: 4K (sorry-) Warnings: Fluff, missing moments, mention of word "whore". There are some minor spoilers from "The Lords of the North" book, so if you're planning on reading them I would advise against reading certain parts. A/N: After being a silent reader for a while and enjoying every exhistent fics on this character, I've decided to write one of my own. The inspiration comes from this post, and after weeks of venting on my terrible writing and fighting the urge of deleting everything, I wrote this! It came out different from what I had imagined, but I'm slightly satisfied. A special thanks to @sihtricfedaraaahvicius, the owner of the linked post, who gently passes me the whole passage from the book, and to @whitedarkmoonflower , @lord-aldhelm and @sylasthegrim for being my amazing beta readers and cheerleaders. I love you, really.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by @whitedarkmoonflower Dividers by @saradika-graphics

READ IT ON AO3

“She says she loves me, lord,” Sihtric told Uhtred in a quiet voice, careful not to raise it too much as they slipped into the forest in the middle of the night.

The air grew cold and thick, the full moon rising brightly into the sky, its pale rays faintly illuminating the surroundings as they filtered through the thick bank of fog that enveloped the area like a heavy blanket. The silence of the night was occasionally broken by the chirping of crickets, the hooting of an owl and the sound of leaves and trampled wood. Felted footsteps crossed the woods, a sign that Uhtred and his men were quietly approaching the village of Datchet.

Everyone was silent and cautious, except Sihtric, who was strangely absent-minded and rather distracted, the thought of your gentle smile and soft touch staining his mind like a woodworm eating the pulp of wood.

"Of course she says that," Uhtred replied quickly, hoping that his disinterested answer would quell Sihtric's desire and return his focus to the mission. But it didn’t have the desired effect; on the contrary, it encouraged Sihtric to speak again.

“I swear. She says she loves me!” the Dane retorted, his voice slightly raised as if he had found the courage to defend his feelings against his Lord, to whom he had sworn his life and his sword, for the very first time.

“Sihtric, she’s a whore,” Uhtred said, a hint of irritation could be heard in his voice.

“No,” again, Sihtric raised his voice, which grew brighter as he continued. “She’s past that,” he added with a newfound confidence, words that were far from a lie.

Sihtric had never been loved, nor had he ever felt it, an emotion of which he knew only the name and little of the meaning. How could he ever have understood such a noble thing when he was born and raised in an environment where there was no love? When the only person willing to give him love had been taken from him by a father who wanted nothing to do with him?

He lived in Dunholm, a fortress that was more of a prison than a real home. Kjartan had never felt a shred of compassion for his bastard son: to him, Sihtric was nothing more than an expendable life, a useless existence to be thrown to the dogs, as he had done to his mother, had Tekil not pleaded for his life and taken him into his servitude.

Sihtric had felt his mental chains crumble on the day he offered his life and sword to Uhtred, and vanish on the day Kjartan died, shattered by the endless blows Ragnar had dealt him while taking Dunholm. But of all the emotions that overwhelmed him that day, the void, the emptiness that the absence of love had brought him was hard to assuage. A void that he tried to fill by paying women for pleasure, hoping that one of them would step forward and mend his wounded heart, feeling that love he was craving for almost all his life. And it was in one of his nights of seeking affection from women that he found you.

When you first approached him, he was completely overwhelmed by the way you carried yourself: your ethereal beauty, your soft voice, your long curls and your big, shining eyes, which drew him to you like a moth to a flame, made him wonder why a woman as beautiful as you had chosen this kind of work. The aura that surrounded you both attracted and intimidated him, and Sihtric thought he was looking at Freya herself instead of a mortal woman.

You took him in your room and both made love that night, soon to be followed by many others, and each time it was the purest of experiences. His rough and trembling hands were soothing against your body while his lips explored every inch of it, savouring you with the utmost respect and devotion as he saw how surprisingly responsive your body was to his touch. Soft kisses and whispers of love parted as your naked forms joined as one, two seemingly different souls in a desperate search for each other, feeding on a love you both sought by others. You desperately clasped at each other when you both reached your high, the bliss of the act made you both dizzy and satisfied.

Sihtric fell in love with you that night and already thought of you as his wife, and when on a cold winter's day a soft "I love you" escaped your lips while reaching your peak, the Dane warrior asked for your hand, tearing you away from the job that robbed you of the dignity you deserved.

“What she loves is your silver,” another voice, Finan, joined the conversation, and soon a chorus of jokes and laughter from the other warriors followed, mocking the naivety of the young Dane. But Sihtric was not to be deterred, and with the most serious expression his face could show, he looked at Uhtred and spoke again, his words echoing in the silence of the forest.

“I wish to marry her.”

Again, Uhtred chose to ignore his words, making Sihtric’s impatience growing inside him.

“Lord, the lady said…”

"The lady said she loves you, but she seems to be making good use of all the silver I gave you." Uhtred blurted out, not raising his voice too much. He could not see him, but could feel Sihtric's jaw clenching and his eyes almost looking down at his feet, as if he had been caught in the act and was awaiting punishment.

“I will help you find a wife,” he told the Dane in a lower voice, never looking over his shoulders, “For now, I wish you to kill Danes and survive the night.”

Then a piercing scream from some of the villagers broke the silence of the night. Finan, the first in line, raised his hand to signal a halt, and Uhtred, Sihtric and the other warriors followed. They spotted two Danes resting by a makeshift campfire behind them, and having successfully neutralised them, Uhtred ordered them to hide and wait, not to attack until they were given the order. Sihtric stood near a huge tree, his back pressed against the rough wood, clutching his weapons and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword as he felt the adrenaline of battle coursing through his veins.

The night was long, and the threat was far from over, but he was indeed following his lord’s advice to survive the night.

Because he knew that after this battle, he would return home, and would find a safe place in your arms.

A new day dawned and winter quietly took its leave of the Saxon lands. The pale rays of the morning sun warmed the earth like an embrace, peeling away the layers of snow and allowing nature to be reborn, blooming with all its colourful vegetation and the intoxicating scent of plants and flowers. Even the animals awoke from hibernation and the warmth of the spring sun allowed them to roam freely in the wild, hunting to feed their young, exploring new places to settle or simply returning like the flock of birds in the sky.

Spring came to Coccham too, and soon the village enthusiastically welcomed the arrival of the new cycle of life. And you celebrated it by sitting by the river, enjoying the warmth of spring, closing their eyes and feeling the wind dance around them, gently ruffling their long curls. The scent of the lake, a mixture of musk, wet wood and grass, filled your nostrils and you let out a long sigh as the bare skin of your feet dipped into the water. This was the time of day you free yourself from your chores and spend some time with your thoughts.

When you first set foot in Coccham, you never felt the struggle to find a home of your own, as Sihtric insisted on welcoming you into his own house, which soon became your little love nest. Uhtred had not yet given you his blessing to marry, but in Sihtric's eyes you were already his lovely wife. He used to spend his silver at the village market, buying you all sorts of jewellery to adorn your pale skin and enhance your beauty. And when his silver ran out, he gave you his arm rings and spoils of war, a reward Uhtred gave him when he thought his services worthy.

The time you spent together was sadly short, as his lord always managed to fill his days with arduous tasks or sending him out on patrol, but as evening fell and you waited for him to come home, he never failed to show you how empty his day was without you. You could read all the love and devotion he felt for you in his timid, mismatched eyes, looking at you like a goddess descended among mere mortals. His calloused hands would always find your soft cheeks, brushing your flesh and lower lips with his thumb before giving you a desperate kiss, feeding on your lips like a hungry predator after a lean day.

And when there were evenings when Sihtric came home, haunted by the thought of leaving you behind while he was on the battlefield, he would sit by your side by the fire, his forehead pressed against yours as hot tears crossed his sharp face, and kiss every inch of your exposed skin as if it were the last thing he could do before reaching Valhalla. You would spend the night cuddling in bed, crying in each other's arms before sleep took you both, and you would wake in the morning with emptiness wrapped around your arms.

Uhtred had left weeks ago, taking Sihtric and the rest of his warriors and sailing to Datchet to secure the Thames for King Alfred. You would usually spend your time in Gisela's company, helping her with the household chores and keeping an eye on her children. But the restless night you were facing had left you with a throbbing headache and a bad mood, and you didn't feel the need for human companionship as much as the immaterial one of your thoughts and emotions.

You had learned over time how stressful and heartbreaking it could be to live with a warrior, and watch him slip silently from your embrace at the crack of dawn. Loneliness had become your silent companion during those long waits, leaving your heart bleeding with pain and your mind filled with imaginary thoughts that would eventually haunt you in your sleep, tossing and turning as false scenarios formed in your mind, your breath itching in your dreams as you saw Sihtric lying lifeless on the ground, no weapons in his hands in your worst nightmares.

You were jolted from your thoughts by two strong arms wrapped around your waist and a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your bare feet came out of the water and were soon planted on the floor, and before you could react the same arms wrapped around your waist, enveloping your petite body in a warm embrace, your back pressed against a broad chest.

Fear clouded your mind as you thought you were trapped under the clasp of a filthy man who wanted nothing from you but the pleasure your body could provide, but when you felt the man's head pressed against your shoulder, you shivered as you recognised the touch of his soft lips pressed against the side of your neck.

"My love," the soft and familiar voice called to you in a sweet chant, soon loosening its grip to allow you to turn around. And it was then that you recognised him: his lean face and sharp jaw, decorated with scars that crossed his forehead and one of his cheekbones, his dark hair cut short at the sides and combed in three braids, the kohl liner around his eyes that seemed to harden a tender and watchful gaze, and that unmistakable tattoo that ran from one side of his head to his neck. All features that could only belong to Sihtric, the Dane warrior who stole your heart from the first moment he laid eyes on you.

You jumped on him, wrapping your neck around your arms and pecking his face with small kisses. Your sudden move caused him to step back, struggling to find the balance and not fall ruinously to the ground.

“You are back!” you happily stated, stepping back a little to admire him. “And without a scratch!”

“I will always find a way back to you,” Sihtric spoke quietly, a small smile forming on his lips as he rested his forehead on yours, allowing his lungs to fill with your scent, a mixture of myrtle, rosemary and wild flowers.

“I looked for you all over the village, I thought I would have found you there,” he continued, taking one of your hands and pressing his lips on your slender fingers, enjoying the softness of your skin.

“I was in no mood to spend my time in the company of others,” you confessed lightheartedly, locking your gaze on his. "Besides, where could a defenceless lady go but to fantasise about her lover warrior by the lake?"

Your witty reply made Sihtric chuckle and shake his head, grabbing your tiny waist with his large hands and pulling you close to him. But when your foreheads touched, too intoxicated by your inviting scent, his smile fell and two dark, troubled eyes extinguished the light they had every time he was near you. A long sigh followed, and you could tell that his mind was tortured as well.

"Sihtric?" you called quietly, the light touch of your fingers on his cheek bringing him out of his thoughts. "Is something troubling you? Are you hurt?"

"No," was his quiet reply, whispered so softly as to be almost inaudible, and before you could question him further, he wrapped you in a long and desperate embrace, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breathing became shallow and erratic, and judging by his slight trembling, he was on the verge of tears.

“No other woman will be able to replace you. No one,” the Dane thought aloud, preventing you from replying back when his trembling lips captured yours in a needy and desperate kiss, storming your mind with questions you fear there can be no answers to.

Later that day, the sun was high in the sky and a cloudless blue expanse rose over the village. You could feel the sun's rays hitting your skin with an unpleasant heat, but you were glad that there was a soothing breeze in the air, its cool touch like a balm to your skin, which had become slightly red from prolonged exposure to the sun.

Everyone was busy welcoming King Alfred to Coccham, followed by Lord Odda, some soldiers and thengs, and his small army of priests and monks. When they retired to the main hall to discuss urgent matters, you took the opportunity to release Sihtric from his duties, as his presence was not required at that moment, and hand in hand you walked through the gates of Coccham, approached the small harbour and rested on the grass.

When you went outside, Sihtric finally gave you all the answers he had been unable to give you before, too overwhelmed by his emotions: he told you of his mission and the time he had spent in Datchet, and of the many times he had asked Uhtred for permission to marry you, only to be met with indifference or veiled refusal. He even told you how he had proposed to arrange a suitable marriage for him, and the very thought of it made you both feel sick inside.

It was no surprise to you that both the Daneslayer and his warriors frowned upon you; your old profession was a stain on your character that was difficult to wipe away. You were aware of the mischievous glances and veiled comments they made whenever you sat at the same table outside their tavern, to which you always responded with stiff lips and restraint, unlike Sihtric, who, dulled by the alcohol that brought out his dormant impulsiveness, threatened to make the square to anyone who dared offend you. It was your task to calm him down each time, assuring him that it was a temporary situation and that everyone would get used to your presence. But deep in your heart you knew it wouldn't be so.

You sat back in the grass, Sihtric's head in your lap, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the light breeze caressing his face. You stroked his uncombed hair gently, giggling at how soft his hair felt to the touch, while your eyes continued to scan the surroundings, focusing on the men coming and going from the small wooden dock, busy unloading goods from ships or docking others. Then you took your eyes off the water and sighed as you spotted a group of ducks swimming happily in the water, followed by a small group of adorable ducklings squawking loudly.

Suddenly your attention was drawn to a small group of butterflies fluttering along the shore, slowly dispersing into the air, creating a spectacular display of colour. Your jaw dropped slightly, mesmerised by the delicate dance these insects were performing in the air, some allowing the wind to gently transport them from the nearest flowers and feed on their nectar, others resting gracefully on the grass and stretching their bright blue wings a little before continuing their dance. A pleasant warm spread across your chest, feeling a sense of peace and happiness crossing your face.

“They are a beautiful sight,” a kneaded voice brought you back to reality, feeling Sihtric slightly shifting from your lap. His brown eye was open, looking at the butterflies, while his other one was covered by his forearm.

“Indeed,” you spoke softly, gently pressing your lips on his forehead. You could see his cheeks flushing with the brightest red. “They truly are.”

One of the butterflies left its group, approaching you. Sihtric leanend one of his arms, stretching one of his fingers to welcome the insect. He chuckled lightly when he felt your curious gaze over him, and soon his mismatched eyes were locked into yours.

“I have heard stories saying that blue butterflies are meant to bring luck,” he explained quietly, his gaze now shifted again on the insect, which stood in midair, watching his finger. “The longer it stays on your finger, the longer your luck lasts.”

Sihtric waited for the butterfly to pose on his finger, a hint of impatience growing in him as he secretly begged the insect to rest as long as possible and bring you both luck. But it chose not to rest, spreading its wings and turning its attention elsewhere. He let out a frustrated groan, which was greeted by your delicate laugh. Your voice was a melody to his ears.

"Then I guess you have no luck," you said, a slight grin forming at the corner of your mouth, your hand continuing to rub Sihtric's hair in small, circular motions. Your reply caused Sihtric to move from where he was sitting on the grass and look at your face: his dark, loose hair seemed to soften his features, his two-toned eyes lit up at the sight of your smile, making his heart pound in his chest and his breath quicken. His trembling hands rested on your cheeks, rubbing them with the utmost care, afraid that you might break under his rough touch.

"I am lucky, my lady," he whispered, resting his forehead on yours. "A little butterfly may not have given me luck, but the gods have given me you, a far greater blessing than any fleeting luck could provide."

He slowly drew you closer, rubbing the tips of your noses and waiting for your permission. When you nodded softly, sighing at his soothing touch, he locked his lips to yours in a tender kiss, a light touch soon followed by deeper contact. He placed his hand on the nape of your neck, pressing urgently against it, rubbing your exposed flesh in slow, circular motions, his sudden movement making you tremble and a soft moan escaping your throat.

As the kiss deepened and the heat of pleasure engulfed you both, you felt a gentle tickling crossing your hand, causing you to break the kiss. You looked down your hand and a gasp escaped from your lips.

"Sihtric, look!" you called, shaking his arm without hurting him too much, and when you were sure his gaze was fixed on you, you gently raised your hand to reveal the same butterfly as before peacefully perched on your finger. Words were superfluous to describe the surreal moment, and you both stood still, watching in amazement as its shiny wings closed and reopened, both of you secretly telling the insect to rest as much as it could. In this silent exchange of glances and thoughts, it was as if nature had intervened in your path, whispering promises of future serenity and joy amidst the chaos of the world.

You felt Sihtric raising off the ground urgently, and without uttering a word he approached the gates. You gave him a puzzled look, stunned by his sudden move. “Where are you going?”

“To lord Uhtred,” Sihtric turned around and looked at you, a wide smile crossing his face. “I will ask his permission to marry you again.”

“But lord Uhtred already gave his decision,” you replied back, slightly raising his voice as you saw him approaching the gates.

“The blue butterfly.” he replied in a cheerful voice, pointing to the small insect still in your hand. “We have been blessed by luck. I will marry you, my love. I swear I will!”

And it was at that moment that you saw his figure cross the gates and slowly disappear into the distance, leaving you alone. You let out a long sigh, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile, and fixed your gaze on the butterfly, which awkwardly spread its wings, leaving your finger behind before rejoining its group and disappearing into the air.

That butterfly brought you luck. That was what Sihtric thought, while you continued to believe that Gisela's help was behind it all, when Uhtred finally gave his permission to marry you, on the condition that he complete a task for him. Sihtric came back to you, showering your face with soft and urgent kisses, his heart heavy at having to leave you again, but his spirit lifted at the thought that after this mission you would finally be his and his only.

Fortunately, Sihtric didn't keep you waiting too long, for he returned from Skald's Hall a few days later, and by mutual agreement, a small and intimate wedding ceremony was held on Frigga's Day, according to Sihtric's religion and beliefs. His eyes could not stay in contact with yours for too long, your dazzling beauty sending shivers down his spine and dulling his senses, for he could still not believe that the gods had allowed him a glimpse of happiness by sending you on his path. After the exchange of your wedding rings and Sihtric's promise to be the devoted and loving husband you deserve, clutching his Mjolnir pendant in his hands, a kiss sealed the much awaited union, witnessed by the few present and the watchful eyes of the gods.

And when the two of you would sit in the same place years later with your stomach fertile with new life, a blue butterfly would rest on your outstretched finger, bringing good fortune and prosperity to your happy union for years to come.

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fanfic #tlk fic

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