#uhtred x ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arcielee · 2 years ago

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Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving) Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 6941 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜 Deireadh is end in Irish. Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @myfandomprompts @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurss [bold means I was unable to tag you!]

Chapter 7

The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle.

His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer.

She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.

There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex.

Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with.

These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again.

If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment.

In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?”

“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low.

“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.” There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…”

“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”

There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.”

Keavy.

The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic.

It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.

Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city.

He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid.

“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.

Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.”

Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile.

Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe.

She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you.

His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will.

It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.

It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him.

Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.”

A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.

The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth.

He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.

She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.”

Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.

“Do you love her, Osferth?”

It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.

“What keeps you from saying this to her?”

Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into.

She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.”

Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”

His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch.

Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.”

Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.”

“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.”

They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago.

The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering.

But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind.

He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing.

I know she loves you.

He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.

Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.

He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat.

He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current.

Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.”

Curse be damned.

“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?”

Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.”

It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.

Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room.

Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers.

And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside.

King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips.

A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture.

“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.”

Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.”

His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.

“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father.

Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.

Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.

+ + + +

“I see horsemen.”

Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?”

The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.”

Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.

“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”

“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”

She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”

It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features.

She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.

“You are Keavy?”

She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.

“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.”

The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief.

Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith.

Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?”

She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship.

The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens.

Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.

Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”

“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips.

The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry.

She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.”

Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.”

“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.

Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”

“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?”

Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.”

The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive.

“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.

But Keavy knew that would not be the case.

They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see.

And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.

Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.

That she loved him, and she always would.

And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?” The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”

Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”

“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.”

It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!”

Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery.

Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!

It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again.

Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched.

Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone.

And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs.

She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would.

It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood.

There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?”

She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face.

His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause.

“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat.

“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.”

Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?”

She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her.

“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes.

Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”

“Osferth?” Her brow quirked.

He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”

“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”

Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly.

“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.”

And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.”

“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed.

“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth.

Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”

And they kissed.

+ + + +

There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day.

Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes.

There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug.

Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.

The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks.

A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”

Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.

His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”

She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.”

Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door.

He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare.

Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands.

“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”

But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips.

Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…”

Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.”

She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath.

He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further.

Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest.

His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued.

She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams.

“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together.

“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”

Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release.

She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss.

Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter.

“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter.

She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls.

And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds.

The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.

He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”

Deireadh.

previous | masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #we need more osferth fanfic tbh #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

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oblitus-luna · 3 months ago

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eden's works masterlist

the last kingdom

(i miss you like we both died) our time together, a star-crossed endeavor (aethelstan X ofc)

rated E (18+), canon divergence, 89,000+ words, currently on hiatus

summary: Under the weight of his blood legacy and Uhtred's guidance, Aethelstan's journey gains an addition that challenges his sense of morals and stirs an unfamiliar straining of desire as conflicting as the desired.

#eden's masterlist #the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #tlk fanfiction #aethelstan fanfic #aethelstan fanfiction #aethelstan x ofc #aethelstan x original female character

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finanmoghra · 2 years ago

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Cruel Summer

damn seasons part 1

pairing modern!Eadith x ofc

summary This could be a sweet friends to lovers story, if only the summer wasn't so cruel.

warnings angst/fluff, slight mention of aggression, implied smut/suggestive

word count 5.4k

a/n i used some stefanie's pics on the moodboard where she is blonde, but eadith still being a redhair right. this story takes place in no specific country or city. also, there's no blood feud between families in this, kjartan is tove and sihtric's father but he does not take place in the story, they actually live with their mom and stepdad, its not important at all, just the backstory i had created.

Eadith is her best friend. Tove have met her when she was 15, Eadith has just moved into her town and she started to study with her brother, Sihtric, and his band of friends, who are also Tove's friends despite being 2 years older than her. It was naturally, the boys —that includes Aethelflaed, 'there is nothing ladylike in the way she throws a punch' as Uhtred says — brought her to their circle of friends and as she was closer in age with Tove, their friendship just happened.

Since the first day it has been them, Sihtric, her big brother, is friend with Uhtred and Finan since they were babies, and when Tove was born, the boys were enchanted with their little princess — as Sihtric said, and later swore they will always protect her at all costs. The years went by and nothing changed, it was Sihtric, Finan, Uhtred and Tove, the princess in danger who they, the fearless warriors, need to rescue, as they always play. Until new faces were showing up, Aethelflaed, and her half-brother, Osferth joined the band when they were about 11, 10 years old. They were inseparable, and their families being close contributed to it.

When she first met Eadith, Tove felt something different about her, but she couldn't know what, so she let it go, she kept to herself this unfamiliar feeling everytime she was on Eadith's presence, in order to forget about it. Until her second year at uni.

Tove was studying ASNC - anglo-saxon, norse and celtic -, a subject she was always interested as her family has a big norse inheritance, and because of that she planned to do her master program in Denmark. In some way Tove could handle the studying life with their nights out, at a pub, a club or a party.

It was at one of those parties that everything happened. Tove was way too drunk, trying to find her way to a bathroom and she found one at upstairs of the house. What she didn't know was that Eadith was following her, trying to look after her, so when she opened to go out and found Eadith leaning on the doorway, waiting for her, Tove couldn't contain her surprise.

— Eadith! Hey, what you're doing here? — Tove asked leaning on the doorway as well.

— Tonight is my turn to keep an eye on you. — Eadith said, with a playfull tone, but she was serious. They all have this kind of agreement that at least one of them won't get too drunk for emergencies, it's their way to look after each other.

— I'm not even that drunk! — Tove's voice was disagreeing with her. — You can go and have some fun.

— I am not on the mood for party at all, I'm good here.

With a courage coming from nowhere - all the alcohol she consumed - she came closer to Eadith. — Well, then let's have some fun the two of us.

Before Eadith could say anything, Tove's lips were crashing hers. At first she didn't stop, because she's been wanting this for so long and Tove's soft lips against hers was definitely the kind of fun she was needing. But then she remembered Tove was drunk and broke the kiss.

— Okay, lady, I think it is time for you to go home, come. — Eadith said, still close to her, fixing her hair.

Tove didn't protested and Eadith took her to Sihtric, and they both agree to go home and left the party.

When the next day came up, it was like nothing had happened. Eadith didn't touch the topic and Tove didn't remember, yet. It took her a day or two to realise that it wasn't a dream, - c'mon, she had dreamt of this too many times to realise it had truly happened - she had kissed Eadith. And she wanted to do again.

However, she couldn't. Eadith is her best friend, she couldn't risk ending up their friendship for something silly like this. So she let it go, again.

The realization came several months later. Tove was one month away from finishing her degree and started to organize her life to her Master program. She and Eadith still being friends and very closer, Eadith thinking that she forgot about what happened that night, and Tove pretending she actually forgot.

One day Tove was walking on campus towards the library when she saw Eadith talking with a guy, he was obviously flirting with her and she was smiling to him. Tove got angry, she rushed to the library, and let the tears fall silenty. She didn't like this feeling, she didn't like what this feeling means. So she masked it as stress coming from the exams.

Tove was miserable for days, and everyone noticed, including Eadith, but she got nothing from her.

Sihtric started to get worried about his little sister, he knew something was hurting her. It was a normal thursday, Sihtric was at home, so he found it strange when Tove showed up at noon when she was supposed to be in her lecture.

As soon as she arrived home, Tove rushed to her bedroom and lock herself there. Of course Sihtric followed her.

— Tove, open the door, talk to me. — he asked at the door, for the third time.

— I don't want to talk, Sihtric, leave. — she said and he could notice by her voice that she was crying.

— C'mon, at least let me be with you, you don't need to say anything now.

No answer came immediately, but after some time he could hear that she unlocked the door. When he enters in her bedroom, she's already back at her bed and he lays down besides her, giving her a tight hug and she cried more.

— You say you're fine, but I know it isn't true. Don't tell me it's the exams, I know there's something more. You don't need to tell me anything, just don't lie. — Sihtric gives her a kiss on her temple — But if someone did anything to you, that you need to tell me. — he said on his protective brother tone.

Tove let out a little laugh. She has the best brother in the world.

— It's Eadith. — she says after she calmed down — She's going out with that guy.

— And what's the problem?

— The problem is that I love her! — she exclaimed — Not like you do, I love her.

Sihtric didn't know what to say, he only knew that advising her to talk about it with Eadith wouldn't happen. Tove is a stubborn bastard, just like him.

He just said to her that if it's meant to be, it'll be. Sooner or later. And Tove cried at that, 'cause she know it won't.

Her final exams have passed, as Eadith's and Osferth's. —The three of them were the only ones that still at uni, as the others had graduated a year before.— And that was a reason to party, they said.

So there is Tove, at a friday night getting ready to go to some club they chose. She picked out a little black dress, one of the milions she has and was finishing her makeup when Sihtric knocked on her door.

— Are you ready to go?

— Yep — she answered after applying her lipstick. — You’re lucky I'm on the mood for party tonight, or I'd make it the worst night ever.

— You don't think I know? That's why I suggested we'd go tonight, I see you're in a good mood.

— So we should stop wasting time and go.

Well, she was on a good mood, really. But not anymore.

Tove was all happy and excited, and suddenly her feelings got all blue after Eadith arrived with Bresal, the guy she is going out with. It made her blood boil seeing him holding Eadith's hand, it should be her instead.

Sihtric looked at her, worried, as Eadith started to introduce Bresal to the others, he saw Tove giving her best to look strong as she greeted them, and as soon as they turned their back, he saw how she ran away.

He waited a few minutes to go after Tove, trying to keep up appearances, he saw that some of them noticed Tove vanishing but no one said nothing. Sihtric soon found her at the bar, asking for another drink.

— Tove, we can go home if you want, you don't need to stay. — he tried, approaching her.

— And you don't need to leave just because I'm in this pathetic situation. — she finally says after a moment in silence.

— I won't leave you alone, you're my little sister, I'll ne-

— I'm leaving! — she cuts him.

— What? When? To where?

Before saying anything else, Tove led Sihtric to a more quiet place, so they could talk.

— I wasn't planning to tell you this now, but I was accepted into a master program in Denmark, and I don't know yet when I'm leaving. — she cuts Sihtric again as he tried to say something — Please, don't tell anyone yet.

— It's okay, it isn't my place to tell 'em. And I'll support you in anything you choose. — Sihtric hugs tightly — I'm gonna miss you, you know it, right?

— Of course you will, — she laughs as he pinched her side. — I'm gonna miss you too, but now let's go back before they noticed and before I start to cry.

They came back and acted like nothing had happened, just like the ones who noticed something was wrong. Tove tried not to think so much about anything at all, they went out to club and have a great time, so she will try to do so.

She gave her best trying to keep in the partying mood, but at the moment she left the bar and entered the cab to go home, Tove couldn't hold her tears anymore.

The next weeks was a complete mess, Tove's time was consumed by things related to her master program, she had to plan her moving, check her documents and so many more. Fortunately she had her family to help her, as they're the only ones who knows she is moving. She had planned leaving in the middle of summer, but she had to change her plans due to her friends announcement after her graduation ceremony, that they're travelling this summer to the beach. And this isn't the kind of event she can refuse to go.

So she got her things packed, both for their trip and for her moving, and just as she finished, Tove heard the bell ring. She wasn't expecting no one to show up, so she was really surprised to see Eadith at the other side of the door, and even more to see the tears in her eyes.

— Oh! Eadith, what happened? — Tove asked worried, and before she could get some answer Eadith throw herself in Tove's arms. And Tove could never deny a safe place to her.

She could feel Eadith grabing her shirt to keep her closer, and the absence of an answer made her even more worried, if it was possible.

— Hey, love, it's alright, — Tove whispered while caressing her hair, trying to make her calm. — Please, come in so you can tell me what happened.

Eadith noded and stepped back to follow Tove into her house. She led her to the couch and brought her to sit close to her. Eadith didn't say nothing on the first moment, but after a time playing with Tove's wristband, she started,

— I, I had an argument with Bresal, — Tove could feel her blood boil by only hearing his name — He got too hostile over me, and.. and he bruised me.

She motions to her wrist and Tove could see the bruise there, she had to control herself to not scare Eadith with the anger she's feeling now.

— I didn't know what do or where to go, I could only think of you so I came here.

— Eadith, you're ok now, right? I'm glad you came to me, you will always find a safe place with me, you know it? — Tove only felt Eadith noded while hugging her. — I swear if I see that turd he'll regret everything he has done in his life. No one dares to raise a finger to my pumpkin.

Eadith laughed at the silly nickname Tove had gave her years ago, when they met. —Your hair reminds me of pumpkin pies, so it's fair for you to be my pumpkin. — she said.

Tove felt relieved to achieve her goal, Eadith now is more calm and hearing that laugh made her heart warm. She could spend a lifetime hearing that laugh, seeing her girl happy makes her the happiest person. Her girl. Stop it, you fool, she's not your girl. Tove thought and regretted at the same moment.

Eadith got way more calm after spending some time with Tove, so she insisted to her to stay for the night. Eadith couldn't say no.

And when Sihtric went to talk with his sister after arriving at home and found the two cuddling while Eadith was already asleep, he didn't say anything, just smiled at Tove.

On the next day, they were all meeting to head to the airport, Tove and Osferth checking everyones documents and necessary items, as they always do before their trips, when they saw that turd, Bresal, passing by with a black eye and Eadith could only see a glimpse of a smirk on Tove's face while she continues to do her things, pretending she didn't see it.

The flight wasn't so long, and soon they arrived at their destination. The house they're staying was beautiful, close to the beach, it was perfect, except for having only a few rooms so they will all share. It wasn't a problem at all, Uhtred and Sihtric with their girlfriends got a room each, Finan and Osferth was sharing another, Tove and Eadith would also share the room and Aethelflaed was the only one to get a room only for herself. — I rented the house, so I get the room for myself. — she said.

It was okay for Tove to share a room with Eadith, nothing that they haven't done before. The real problem was that the room have just one bed. So Tove will have to share a bed with Eadith for three weeks, and she doesn't know how strong she can be, having to sleep so close to the woman she aches for. It will be a cruel summer with her.

The first nights were a bit awkward, but no one said nothing until they got used to it. A couple days have passed since they arrived, they had spent most of their days at the beach, and wandering around the small city they're staying at. Now it's evening and her friends are getting ready to go out for dinner, Tove have already decided she wasn't going with them tonight, and someone have asked her to check if Eadith is going with them.

So that's what Tove was going to do when she entered their room at the same time Eadith was leaving the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, looking for her clothes. Tove's mind was getting far from what she was supposed to do it, she could only think how she wanted to touch her pale skin, and trace her fingers the same path as water drops. She was so lost in her own mind that she didn't noticed Eadith calling her.

— Tove, everything's alright?

— Oh, yeah yeah, — she could feel her cheeks getting warm after being caught — I just came to ask if you're going out for dinner or if you're gonna stay?

— I'm gonna skip it today, I need to get a rest, 'm still too tired from the beach.

If I could do everything that I want, the last thing you would get is a rest. Tove thought. Gods, I need to stop thinking about this.

She only nodded and left, heading downstairs to tell her friends they're staying. After getting herself a quick snack, Tove went back to her room and found Eadith brushing her hair.

— Oh god, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here? — she asked exasperated, making Tove let out a laugh.

— I'm sorry, bae. — Tove got closer and left a kiss on the top of her head, — I didn't want to go out neither. — she said while looking for some comfortable clothes to sleep.

After a while, they were both lying in bed, Tove was trying to read but couldn't focus on other thing than Eadith turning from side to side. She left her book at the bedside table before turning to Eadith.

— Can't sleep?

— No. — she pouted her lips and Tove couldn't think of anything cuter than this.

— Come here, then. — Tove opened her arms and Eadith accepted her embrace. She felt her body tensed but as she started caressing her hair, she could felt Eadith's body relaxing.

The silence remained for a while, Tove thinking that Eadith had already slept but suddenly felt her body tensing again.

— Tove? — she asked with a low, muffled voice, as her face was pressed against Tove's neck, which made her feel shivers.

— Hmm, yeah?

— Do you remember that last party at Erik's? — now it's time for Tove's body tenses.

— I, I.. Yes, I remember.. Wh-what about?

— When you.. when you kissed me, — she moved to look at Tove's eyes. — Did you really meant to do that, or.. you were just drunk acting?

— Eadith...

— No, tell me, I need to know Tove, please.

Tove hesitated a bit before answering, — I did mean to do it.

— Then why did you pretend you didn't remember? — Eadith frowned her eyebrows.

— 'Cause.. I wanted to do it again! It was easier to pretend I didn't remember and didn't want to do it again. It was easier to try to forget than bring this up and ruin our friend-

Her words were cut off by Eadith's lips crashing against hers. Tove was too surprised to react at first, but she didn't miss a second after realizing what was happening. She had Eadith's lips against her owns again. And this time was better than the first.

Tove didn't waste more time, guiding her hands through Eadith's body until it reaches her waist, pulling her even closer. She let out a soft moan when Eadith pulled her hair, making her smile against Tove's lips, happy to cause that reaction on her.

Tove's hands found the way under Eadith's shirt, the contrast between her cold fingers and the warm skin made the ginger gasp, which opened the way for her tongue between Eadith's lips, deepening the kiss even more. Tove could die on her lips and she wouldn't care, she desire this for so long.

She grasps all flesh she can reach, not wanting to let it go, she wants to live this forever, nothing seems to be enough. She can't get enough of Eadith. It was all so new, the shape of her body. Making out with a woman it was definitely better than she imagined. She needs to have her at least once in her lifetime, before she goes.

— Love, you don't need to rush, we have the whole summer, hmm. — Eadith says after breaking the kiss, her fingers now caressing Tove's face.

And Tove didn't have the courage to tell Eadith they didn't. She didn't have the courage to end what had started now.

So she just muttered in agree, letting go.

The next day, Tove is awakened by the sunlight hitting her face, making her grumble. She misses the feeling of Eadith's body pressed against hers so she quickly get up, which cause Eadith to laugh from the other side of the room.

— Calm down, love, I didn't go anywhere, — she says climbing one the bed coming closer to Tove, giving her a soft kiss. — Good morning. — she whisper to her, putting her hair behind her ear.

Tove turns her face to kiss Eadith's hand, — Morning.. — she muttered against her palm. — I missed you next to me, it was sooo comfortable. — Tove's voice was a bit hoarse from the sleep, and that made Eadith feel something, definitely.

— I wish we could stay like this but you need to get up, Finan came to say we're going to another beach today, which is far so we need to leave earlier.

— Just more five minutes, please.. — she asks, snuggling in Eadith.

— It's tempting, you know, but we really need to get ready. — she says and leaves the bed again. — And if you don't get up, you won't be sleeping with me tonight.

It was comical the way Tove got up so quickly.

They didn't tell anyone what was happening between them. They use to be this close since always, so it wasn't awkward to see Tove and Eadith holding hands, cuddling, living in their own world. But Sihtric noticed it was something more, and he was sure something was happening when he saw the love bites. And Sihtric knows his sister well enough to know she didn't said anything about leaving.

One night they were all at the house deck, chatting, drinking, playing some card games until it was very late and one by one started to retire to their rooms, only lefting Eadith, Tove and Sihtric. The ginger one whispered to Tove she'll be waiting her and said good night to Sihtric before leaving. Tove blew a kiss to her and was smiling at the direction she went, until she heard Sihtric calling her.

— So, what's up between you two?

— Hm, what d'you mean?

— C'mon, I'm not blind, are you two finally together? How did that happened?

Tove sighed, knowing she couldn't hide anything from her brother even if she tried.

— It just happened. We didn't talk about what we are, we just enjoying each other, it's summer after all.

— So, you did tell her you're leaving, right?

— I didn't..

— Tove, you- — Sihtric started but Tove cut him off.

— Don't say it, I know I'm being stupid, but I can't tell her, I cannot not have this with her, at least for now. — Sihtric was trying to say something, and Tove didn't let him. — I'm a coward, I know and I don't need you saying this and how wrong I am. — Tove didn't noticed the tears coming to her eyes and starting to fall. — I just.. I have longed this so much, I need to have this with her even if it's going to end soon, but I can't leave without it.

Sihtric came closer and held her, wiping her tears. He waited until she calm down to say something.

— I won't say what you want to hear, because I care for you and I want you to do the right thing. And I also care for Eadith, so I can't let you carry on with this and not tell you to talk with her. I know you won't gave up moving, it's your dream after all, and she would never ask you to do so. So please, tell her, I know she will understand. Tell her before it's too late and you hurt both of you.

Tove didn't tell her.

She couldn't tell her when she entered the room and saw Eadith in a tiny purple matching underwear, waiting for her in their bed.

The only things to leave Tove's lips that night was praisings and soft moans.

She was longing for Eadith, but she wasn't rough on her. Tove loved her on the most pure and passionate way, lustful though. She needed to let Eadith know how much she loves her through her acts.

Every single touch, kiss, bite, was full of Tove's passion for her. Tove could only hope Eadith would get it everytime Tove looks up grinning like a devil after bringing her to the edge, she hoped Eadith would get how much she worshiped her.

Time just flew by and the last week came. They're a few days away from going home so Tove decided to spend more time with Eadith alone. The redhead was almost sleeping after returning from the beach when Tove called her, telling to get ready.

Half an hour later, they're finally arriving at their destination.

— It's a date then, uh? — Eadith said after many times trying to know where they're going.

— Oh, shut up! — Tove said playfully, intertwining their hands again to lead her on the rocky way.

— It's so cliche of you taking me to a date on a secret place, you know that, right?

Tove stopped and turned back to her, her hands now cupping Eadith cheeks, which turned red after Tove looks at her with such intensity, she leaned on her, their lips now brushing against each other. — I know.. — she whispered and gave in, kissing Eadith deep. Tove will miss that so much.

They only broke the kiss when breathing was needed, the two girls panting heavily after an intense kiss. If Eadith's cheeks were already red, now they're even more.

It was only then that Eadith noticed where Tove had take her. They were at a viewpoint at the rocks of the beach, the sun was now setting and they had a privilege view of it, which made the place even prettier. But still, for Tove, the most beautiful thing to see there is Eadith. Her hair and skin were glowing against the sunlight, her eyes shining, completly enchanted by the view, and Tove completely enchanted by her.

— I found it earlier this morning when I went out, I thought you'd like to see. — Tove said only loud enough for Eadith to hear, not wanting to break the atmosphere.

— Oh, I loved it, It's so pretty. — Eadith answered, still focused on the view.

— Yes, so pretty... — Tove let out a little laugh, taking Eadith's hand in hers again, bringing it to her lips and leaving soft kisses all over it.

Tove led her to a bench there, bringing Eadith to sat on her lap, rounding her waist and resting on the crook of her neck. They just sat there for a moment, the quietness only being broke by the sound of the waves and the gasps and soft moans as they kiss. After breaking the kiss, they just stayed there in silence, their foreheads resting against each other, their breaths becoming just one.

— Tove, I think I- — The brunette shut her up by kissing her. She knew what Eadith was about to say, and she couldn't let her do it.

— There's no need of words, babe. — she whispered and Eadith just nodded and kissed her again.

Tove wish she could say it, and hear Eadith saying it, but she just couldn't. Not when she's about to leave.

When the day came, Tove gave her best to hold the tears when she look at their room and the beach for the last time. She was too quiet on the way to the airport and Eadith noticed it, and tried to cheer her up, — The summer is not over yet. — she said. But it is over to Tove, the moment she gets off that plane it is over.

While in the flight back to home, Tove decided to enjoy these last hours with Eadith, with too many kisses and sweet words, which made Finan change seats with Osferth, saying he couldn't stand one more minute with 'these two love birds', making them laugh.

And too soon, the time has come. As soon as they landed, they took their baggages and headed to the arrival gate to meet Ragnar and Brida, who were to be their ride to home, but they were all surprised when they met not only Ragnar and Brida, but also Tove and Sihtric's parents.

They all greeted each other and was talking about how the flight was, until Aethelflaed noticed the amount of baggage next to Tove's parents.

— Wait, are you going to travel again? — she asked looking between Tove and Sihtric.

— No, not them. I am, actually. — Tove answered starting to feeling nervous.

— What? To where? — Finan asked confused.

Tove could feel her hands shaking before she answer. — A University in Denmark accepted me in a master program, so.. I'm moving.

— Why you didn't tell us such good news? — It was time for Osferth to ask and he came to give her a hug, congratulating her.

— Yeah, and why didn't you tell us you were going today? — Uhtred questioned.

— I didn't want to ruin the trip mood making it a farewell trip. I know you will miss me, but don't worry, I'll be back and you won't even notice I was gone. — Everyone laughed at her coment and they all started to say goodbye, wishing her good luck on this new journey.

The only one who didn't make a move was Eadith, she was still shocked at the news, not even knowing how to act. She waited everyone talk with Tove before approaching her.

— Tove, hmm, can we talk? In private? — she asked with a low voice, uncertain of what to say.

— Oh.. Sure, yeah, let's.. Let's get a coffee. — Tove felt like she was freaking out. She was regretting so much not telling her she was leaving.

When they left, Tove could feel the gaze of all her friends, the atmosphere was now heavy and they sensed it.

They went to one of the millions cafeterias at the airport, Tove got a black coffee for her and Eadith's favourite tea before they went to a table.

Tove was about to say something when Eadith started, — So that's it, you're leaving?

— I have to.

— After all these weeks, you didn't think about telling me that it would be over as soon as we came back?

— Look, Eadith- — Tove's words were cut off by Eadith.

— No, after all these nights we spent together and now you're just leaving? Did I mean nothing to you? Did that night mean nothing to you? I gave myself to you and now what?

— Babe, please, hear me. — Tove took Eadith's hands in hers but she pulled it back.

— Don't call me that.. — Tove's heart broke even more after hearing that, she could feel how Eadith was broken because of her.

— I'm sorry, I know I should have told you, look, I tried to but I couldn't. You mean everything to me, every night we spent together mean everything to me. But I just couldn't leave without knowing what it is to be with you. I know I'm stupid and a coward, I swear I know, — Tove had to stop to breath and she noticed the tears were falling down her face, — Believe me, I hate myself for hurting you, but after having a glimpse of what it is to be with you, I couldn't stop, 'cause I'm so fucking in love with you that I wouldn't stand leave without have even kissed you again.

— I was afraid of telling you because I was afraid of loosing you. I need to go but I also need you, and this isn't the kind of thing I can choose between. Now I see I chose the worst way to go and not only lose you, I hurt you, so I'm sorry.

— I would never ask you to leave your dreams behind, Tove, you know that. I wouldn't want to choose me over your dream, you didn't need to choose between one or another, you could have it all. — She got up from her seat and approached Tove. — But I'm afraid you can't have it anymore. Farewell, love, enjoy your time there, I know you'll do your best. — Eadith left a last kiss on her forehead before she walked away.

And Tove? She stayed there for a while, tears still falling, too many eyes on her, before she decided it was time to go. So she left, she said goodbye to her friends and family one more time and boarded to Denmark.

#ems500 #eadith x oc #eadith x reader #modern eadith #modern tlk #the last kingdom #the last kingdom x oc #tove kjartandottir

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solinarimoon · 2 years ago

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Thank you for the tag @bhxrdy

I’m going through a very emotional and difficult time personally right now and haven’t been as active or engaged with my mutuals in here but this was a nice little gift to be tagged.

Favorite color: yellow

Last song: something off the Les Mis soundtrack on my show tunes playlist at work

Currently reading: starting Kith and Kin (The Vox Machina origin story tie in novel for Vax and Vex)

Last movie: I think it was Avatar 2

Sweet/spicy/savory: sweet or savory usually. Not much of a spicy person outside of wasabi

Currently working on: not much of anything. I haven’t been able to write for months. But I’ve got some stories and one shot ideas rotating around in my head for Vax and an OFC as well as always plotting my Sihtric x OC stories. And I will eventually write my one shot angsty Uhtred and Stiorra piece for @emilyhufflepufftlk challenge.

Thanks for the ask!

No pressure tags: @gemini-mama @mrsarnasdelicious @deandoesthingstome @sihtricfedaraaahvicius

tag game

tag some people you want to know better

Thank you for the tag @itbmojojoejo 💕

Favorite colour: GREEN (obsessed with the darker shade of green - and olive green)

Last Song: Sweet Melody - Little Mix

Currently reading: Beach Read - Emily Henry (it's slow but getting there lol)

Last movie: Extraction 2 (i think?)

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet or Savory - can't do spicy

Currently working on: mostly the 4th chapter of Timeless with a sprinkle of my new Osferth fic - alongside some BTVS gifs :3

tagging - @emilyhufflepufftlk @st-eve-barnes @solinarimoon @captainkilly @gemini-mama and whoever else who wants to do it :)

#tag game #mutuals #waving hello from across a park where I’m reading a book on a blanket

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midnightswithdearkatytspb · 2 years ago

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“I told you I’d be coming back again for you, but I’m not. Going way out where the world will never find me. I made a claim that I would dance until we’re bones with my bride. Told you I would never leave you all alone, but I lied.” — Lord Huron & Allison Ponthier • “I Lied”

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grlwtskulltattoo · 17 days ago

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GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS

Thank you @ladyaldhelm for the tag!

What's the origin of your blog title? It’s really quite simple, I’m a girl and I have a large skull tattooed on my left upper arm. As well as a couple of other skulls and a skeleton torso.

OTP(s) + Shipname: Finan x Revna OFC, and Finan X Uhtred …. But I also write a lot of Uhtred x Sihtric Haven’t really thought of shipnames, maybe Finna, Uhtric, Finred…. Haha

Favorite color: Hands down, purple. Preferably darker shades of purple. Love purple so much that I have a purple car. Plum Crazy Purple…oh and I love black, as evidenced by the color of my wardrobe.

Favorite game: Don’t laugh, but I loved Farmville when it was a thing. That is until my farm got repossessed for hacking the game. More recently I’ve been obsessed with Disney Dreamlight Valley, again, don’t laugh. The level of excitement I felt when they added Jack Skellington…ahh. I also enjoyed Hogwarts Legacy, The Last of Us and Days Gone.

Song stuck in your head: Right now, it would have to be Under Your Scars by Godsmack. Second verse really hitting hard, for some events coming up in the Rp…if you know, you know..

Weirdest habit/trait? Uh, does driving around with a skeleton in my car count? I’m just generally weird, and I don’t really care what anyone else thinks. Maybe my need for routines and being particular about how certain things are done is my weird habit/trait.

Hobbies: Writing, reading, painting and drawing, some crafts. Was obsessed with cross stitch for a little while and dabbled in diamond art for a bit. I just like making or repurposing things. Oh and I love riding UTVs or ATVs up in the mountains.

If you work, what's your profession? I am a Customer Service Rep for a group of banks in the west. Not a big fan of it. I hate talking on the phone, especially to random strangers, and I take a job where that’s all I do all day. But it pays pretty decent and I get to work from home so that is cool.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? I would love to be an author and just write all the time. Only problem with that is I mainly write fan fiction, but who knows maybe one of these days I’ll create my own world/characters. Also wouldn’t mind doing art. Thought about blogging, actually tried it, but kind of felt it’s already so overdone.

Something you're good at: Avoiding drama…oh wait maybe not. Uh…learning new skills. I’d like to think I’m good at writing, but I’m still learning. Plants die in my care, so maybe not that. Cooking…I’m good at cooking.

Something you're bad at: Keeping in touch.

Something you love: Halloween, skulls and skeletons, my kids, and my dogs. Even though Zeus can be an asshole… and don't get me started on Athena...

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Plotting out story ideas, The Last Kingdom, Cooking, Crafts, my dogs.

Something you hate: When people say they are going to do something then they don’t. Don’t get my hopes up for nothing. Looking at you brother… Hate being late, or when other people show up late. If you tell me your going to be here at a certain time, then make sure you get here at that time, or fuck off. Rude or hateful people. Oh and people that don’t pick up after themselves. Damn, I’ve become an ornery old lady…haha

Something you collect: Main thing - Skulls and skeletons. My house is tastefully decorated year round for Halloween….I just add more when the holiday comes around. I call it cottage core goth/or farmhouse goth. Haha. I collect an excessive amount of craft supplies that I may or may not ever use.

Something you forget: Names, sometimes it takes me a minute to get them down. What I need to add to my grocery list.

What's your love language? Doing things together, touch, expressions of love.

Favorite movie/show: Movie:The Crow; TV show:The Last Kingdom, Sons of Anarchy

Favorite food: Honey Walnut Shrimp from Panda Express, or a ribeye steak from Texas Roadhouse

Favorite animal: Wolf, which is why I have two hybrids living with me. But I also love Crows and Ravens.

What were you like as a child? I was quiet and shy, until I got to know someone. Tended to keep to myself. Didn’t have a good home life, so I only had a few friends I trusted. I was also funny…I mean I still kind of am, along with being sarcastic and a smart ass.

Favourite subject at school? Art, history, and English

Least favourite subject: Anything involving math. Wasn’t great with the sciences either.

What's your best character trait? Empathetic, loyal

What's your worst character trait? I can be very stubborn, and I hold a grudge like nobody’s business. My don’t give a fuck attitude, and sarcasm… lots of sarcasm.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Honestly, to not have to work, so I could spend more time doing the things I love….but it is what it is.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? This might be completely in left field, but Billy the Kid. I was a little obsessed with him when I was younger, and I love the old west. Quite frankly I love any period in the way back past… Vikings, Old English, cowboys and Native Americans. I always felt like I was born in the wrong time, or maybe it’s just me remembering past lives….hmm.

And, anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged.

#tag game #get to know your mutuals

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solinarimoon · 2 years ago

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On Raven's Wings - Chapter 7

AN: I apologize for such a long absence in updates for this story. I have not abandoned it! Thank you to anyone who is sticking with it.

Warnings: canon-compliant character death, death by fire, amnesia, loads of pent up angst and regret

Word Count: 3.543

Raven’s Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

AO3 if you prefer

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Jerking awake, Liva coughed and covered her nose with her tiny hands. She sat up, continuing to cough and peering over the edge of the loft where she slept. Terror and panic welled up in her stomach and gripped her chest as she cried out. Flames were licking the edges of the long house and sparks rained down from the thatched roof overhead. Smoke was collecting near her, drifting up to the ceiling. Crawling back, Liva cowered against the wall and covered her head with her arms.

“Rag…” she coughed, the smoke burning her throat, “Ragnar! Sigrid!”

“Liva!” She heard Thyra shout followed by a bellow of rage from her grandfather amidst the roar of the fire growing more and more steadily. She looked back over the loft to see them all.

Liva’s hoarse voice cried out again, breaking with a sob for her grandfather. Turning to look up at her, Ragnar stalked over raising his arms.

“Jump to me, child.”

She grabbed up her nightdress around her legs and shifted to the balls of her feet, still kneeling. She coughed harder now. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, streaking through her smoke stained cheeks. Getting her balance, she pushed herself off the ledge into nothingness only to be snatched from the air roughly and firmly a mere moment later. Ragnar crushed her to his chest, brushing his hands through her hair swiftly and resting his forehead against Liva’s own as he settled her bare feet to the floor. The tender moment lasted no longer than a second, before he bodily swung the young girl into the waiting arms of her aunt.

“What do we do?” Thyra pleaded for a solution. “Mother, what can we do?”

Coughing more, Liva buried her face in Thyra’s arms as the young woman looked to her mother. Thyra’s fingers dug into Liva’s shoulders as she hugged the girl from behind, enveloping her and trying to shield her from the panic.

Sigrid looked from her daughter to share a meaningful stare with Ragnar. Stepping forward, she hugged the two girls close while shouting over the sound of the timbers burning and beginning to crash.

“There is a weak spot in the wall, just behind the loom and furs. Air drafts in from the cracks while we sit and weave. Do you remember?”

Thyra nodded her head and gripped Liva impossibly closer. Liva knew of the spot her grandmother spoke of. Often she had fallen asleep laying at her grandmother’s feet, listening to her stories as she wove the yarn Liva and Thyra spent all year spinning. She wove cloth and Liva liked to imagine she wove her stories into the fabric as well. The sound of the weights tethered to the dangling strands shifting along with her fingers as she wove always matched evenly with the cadence of Sigrid’s stories. And the draft from the winds slipping through the cracks in the wall brushed along Liva’s face as she rested.

It was this corner of the home that her grandmother spoke of now.

“It is weak from rot and age and would not burn well. It will give way if forced upon. If the flames have not found it, you can shove against it and make a way out. Go, Thyra. Take Liva and go.”

Ragnar’s voice broke through as he gripped his daughter’s arm in farewell, “Find Uhtred and Brida. Once you are out, run to the woods and find them.”

In the next instant, Liva was on her knees, crouched next to Thyra and pressing herself against the rotted logs in the wall. They were soft and shifted under the weight of their thrusts. With Thyra shoving with all her weight against the logs, Liva scrambled and scratched, digging at the earth beneath the wood. She cried out and covered her head with her hands when a loud crash of a fallen beam landed behind them followed by a whoosh of flames rippling closer.

Thyra shifted herself back from her knees to her bottom and kicked out viciously at the wood. It began to splinter more and soon a hole large enough for them each to squeeze through took shape.

“I’ll go first and you follow,” Thyra gripped Liva’s hands, wiping away the girl's tears and smudging the soot on her cheeks.

She turned and shifted herself, crawling and wriggling to squeeze through the hole. Liva waited tensely, little cries of worry slipping past her lips.

As soon as Thyra was through, Liva crawled forward, slipping her head through the wood and peering around. She saw Thyra standing only two paces away, peering around a corner, looking for any unwanted attention.

Liva’s younger and smaller frame didn’t have nearly as tight fit getting through the hole. But as she scrambled through and cleared the wall, she heard Thyra cry out. Shakily, Liva stood up and watched two men round the corner and grab at Thyra. They looked enormous. Dark and terrifying, silhouetted by the flames of her family's home.

Liva froze in panic. A raging, bellowing sound rang out from the front of the longhouse. Ragnar the fearless was going to Valhalla. Time seemed to stop. Liva was aware of Thyra struggling against the grasping hands of the two men. She was aware of another crash as the roof of their home continued to collapse. She could hear shrieks and cries and shouts all garbled together one over the other.

And then she was running. Straight into the forest. Her bare feet pounding against the undergrowth and her arms pumping at her sides. She was vaguely aware of someone pursuing her. A danger that was tracking her down.

She had never run so hard in her short life. There was a burning in her lungs from the smoke and the ash. There was a burning in her legs from fleeing through the woods in the cold. And a burning in her mind at the terror and confusion waging war on her young psyche.

In a matter of mere minutes, she had awoken to chaos and lost all she held dear in her world. And now she was running for her life. She knew to head towards the hills in the forest to the West. That way led towards the blacksmith’s charcoal fire. It led to Uhtred. But which way was West?

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Liva gasped hard seeing her pursuer looming in the distance. His legs were longer but hers was a child’s stamina and she fled for her life. Liva turned back and continued running, clambering up a steep hill to her right.

Up.

Up towards the hills.

When she reached the top, she turned sharply back again crouching and looking for any sign of the man. Her breath came in quick, shallow rasps. She quickly wiped sweat and soot and tears from her eyes, trying to clear her blurred vision. Smoke from the burning hall was melting amongst the trees and shrubs of the forest. Giving her a final shelter and hiding her path from the man.

She thought she could hear him crashing around and fading away, but she was too scared to risk moving to look. Minutes passed. Only a few brief minutes, but Liva stifled her coughs and tears until she could hold them at bay no longer. Choking on the smoke and the grief, the child stood and looked to the sunrise. A sun rising over the still flaming remains of the hall of Ragnar. Sobbing, Liva stepped back. A sudden and intense need to flee gripping her.

Continue West. Uhtred and Brida will have seen the smoke. They must have heard the screams. She knew she must find them. Stepping back again and shifting to turn, the leaves under her toes slid and gave way. She fell, tumbling a short ways before something hard smacked her head and then the smoke filled her vision until all she saw was black.

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Hiding a shaky breath by sipping her wine, Liva paused and looked up at the faces of those surrounding the table. She found the words had come easily once she had started. Keeping her eyes down, staring unfocused at the wood of the table, the events of that night had tumbled from her lips. A story that wanted…that needed to be told.

But she knew these next words, the questions left unanswered would not come so easily.

“That is terrible, Liva.”

It was Osferth who spoke first. Liva gave a short nod in agreement at the simple truth from the gentle and comforting presence of the warrior monk at her side.

Hild found her voice next, also offering support and condolence.

“It is a miracle you survived such a horror.” Liva looked up to see a genuine concern radiating from her.

A large, calloused hand reached out to grasp her own. Uhtred squeezed her hand tightly, but she could not meet his eye. She could not face whatever thoughts would show on his face.

Liva’s chest had begun to tighten and she was fighting back a large lump growing in her throat, when Finan spoke up from the other end of the table.

Clearing his throat, the Irsihman asked what Liva felt sure they all wished to know.

“So what happened to you after?”

Liva found herself staring at Finan and unable to answer his question. The silence around the table grew.

“You hit your head. What happened after? When you woke up?” he clarified, trying to guide a response from her. Trying to get her to answer the question at the front of everyone’s mind. For the briefest moment, Liva’s focus shifted beyond Finan.

Sihtric sat, arms folded across himself with tense shoulders and his jaw firmly set. His stare did not move from his plate.

Liva opened her mouth to speak but found her throat constricted and dry. She took a sip of her wine, lowering her eyes and fixing her gaze on her own hand fidgeting with the rim of her goblet.

“I do not think you will accept my answers,” she replied, finding a strength and steadiness to her voice that surprised her.

Uhtred still said nothing. Only squeezed her hand again. She still could not look at him.

It was Hild who reassured her.

“We may surprise you, Liva.”

Live chanced a glance up to meet Hild’s face. She saw nothing but genuine concern. Another slow breath and then she continued, haltingly. Her words unsteady and unsure.

“My truth is that I do not know what happened to me. I only know that the next I remember…my next solid memory is standing at the edge of a field. A man with a bow kneeling in front of me, asking me what happened. It was Gallen. And he and his wife took me in and raised me. Everything else in between…”

She shrugged her shoulders. Lifting her face to meet Finan’s face and then HIld’s she let her silence grow.

“So you remember nothing,” Finan questioned her, not unkindly but with a clear skepticism at her confession. “Nothing from the time you knocked your head to when someone found you?”

Liva nodded, “I remember nothing of meaning. Or nothing that makes sense anyway. The memories,” she paused, worrying at her lip, “they’re like ghosts. Not truly there. When I try to remember them they fade away. Always at the edge of my sight and never full on. They are a child’s memories. Jumbled and confused. Lots of green leaves and trees and brush. And small hands covering my own. And,” she stopped shaking her head slightly and knotting her brow in concentration. She shook her head again, more firmly then continued, “I feel sure someone helped me in the forest. You can see the scar just below my hairline.”

Liva ran her fingers through the fine, flaxen strands that framed her face brushing them back to reveal a faint white mark. She fingered it gently and continued, “it would have bled a lot with how hard I must have hit it. It remained bruised and swollen for days and days. But when Gallen found me, my face was clean and a bandage was wrapped around my head.”

“Perhaps it was Hlin, the protectress guarding your life in the wood.”

Skade picked up her cup and leaned back from the table. The woman had listened quietly to Liva’s story, her face betraying no emotion. But now she continued, the fanatical craze growing in her eyes, “Or it may have been Vithar. Silence and Revenge. These are his domain.”

“I have never sought out revenge,” Liva sneered. Her words spoken as much to herself as to the woman across the table.

“Not looked for it, but would have taken it had the chance presented itself. No,” Skade smirked in agreement, “but something has stolen your memories from you. And why would your mind need those thoughts removed?”

Before Liva could bite back a remark across the table, Osferth’s soft voice pushed back against Skade’s musings.

“She was a child with a head wound. And some kind soul helped her.”

“Baby monk is right,” Finan interjected, quickly chancing a glance towards Uhtred at the head of the table. “It is often so in battle after someone gets a good, hard hit to the head. Things grow fuzzy.”

Hild spoke up in Liva’s defense next, offering Liva a warm smile, “And I think it matters little if a person can remember all the details from an event that is years since past and held so much pain already. What matters is that a sister who was lost is now found.”

Liva’s brow furrowed slightly although her mouth slid upward in a timid smile at the group’s easy defense of her story. Accepting her truth on its face. She had not anticipated such kindness. And even with the guarded reserve coming from Sihtric and the instigating remarks from Skade, Liva was glad to have spoken her story aloud.

“I am sorry, little bear.”

Uhtred’s words broke through her thoughts and his hand gripped hers tighter. He had remained quiet while she spoke. So his voice, quiet but firm at her side startled her.

She sensed there was more her brother wished to say, but his voice was not cooperating. She squeezed his hand in return and gave him a sad smile.

“Well since we are telling stories, Munnin,” Sihtric’s voice, quietly slinked from the end of the table, lilting and full of the weight of mead.

Finan scoffed and shifted back in his chair, putting a heavy hand on Sihtric’s shoulder and muttering under his breath, “Och, will ye no leave anything alone tonight, ye little shit.”

Quickly, Osferth stood to help as Finan muscled Sihtric out of his chair and began ushering him out of the hall. Uhtred, Hild, and Skade all watched on, each with varying looks of anger, shock, or enjoyment playing across their faces at the chaos that arose.

Liva quickly stood, her chair toppling backwards and clattering onto the ground. The calm and peace she had felt from giving voice to her story about the hall burning replaced instantly by the same sharp anger she had felt in the forest when she and Sihtric had both drawn their blades.

At the sound of her chair hitting the floor, Osferth’s had turned, his attention distracted, allowing her to step past him.

Stepping up to Sihtric, Liva planted her feet. Her hands were curled tightly into fists at her side and she clenched her teeth as she looked up to meet the Dane’s eyes.

Carefully, Finan tried to place himself between them, but with Sihtric staggering he only succeeded in placing an arm between the pair while supporting Sihtric and stopping Liva from stepping closer.

“Go on then, Kjartanson.”

If he was back to calling her that bloody raven then she would name him his father’s son. Her words struck their mark and she watched as Sihtric’s eyes that had been fogged over from drink snapped to red hot focus.

“Ask me your questions from the woods again. There is no knife at my throat this time,” she glowered, “I will give you answers.”

She was vaguely aware of Uhtred’s own chair crashing to the floor as he stood up at her remark. There was a scuffling and bodies shifting noisily and in an instant Osferth and Hild were between Uhtred as the man stalked towards the three.

Liva and Sihtric’s eyes bore into one another, laced with rage. Finan tried without success to maneuver between them or pull them apart.

“Ask me,” she shouted, while she felt Hild’s arms come around her waist and try to pull her away.

“Why weren’t you at Dunholm,” Sihtric bellowed back, forcing himself forward and out of Finan’s hold.

In an instant, his face was in hers. So close his forehead pushed back on hers for a moment.

“Bloodhair brought his people to Dunholm. We were there. And Ragnar was there. But little Liva, Little Munnin was nowhere to be seen.” His words were full of biting ferocity. Liva felt spittle fly from his lips. His rage fanned her own anger and the confession spilled from her lips just as furious tears ran down her cheeks.

“I was there!” She roared.

Sihtric’s face flashed from anger to shock and confusion. The shoving and disorder surrounding them faded at her words as they all registered what she had said.

Liva allowed the tears to continue to roll down her face as she choked out her next words.

“I was at Dunholm. I saw you,” she shoved him hard once in the chest and he took a step back into Finan’s arms.

“I saw all of you,” she turned and looked at the faces of the people around her.

“Then why not reveal yourself then, Liva? Why not…. To Ragnar?”

She could hear the confusion, a stunned pain in Uhtred’s questions.

She turned towards him, half lunging and half collapsing into Hild as she cried.

“Because I was a coward, Uhtred.”

Sobs choked her words.

“Because my father abandoned me long before our home was burned to ash. And because,” she looked past them all to see Skade standing on a chair to better see their quarrel. The woman grinned her self-satisfied grin, reveling in the chaos.

“Because I let the witch’s words worm their way into my mind. She gave me fear and doubt and it is why I lost any chance to ever speak to my father again. And it is why I am loath to see others heed any vile lies that spill from her lips.”

Liva pushed herself away from Hild. The abbess had held her and steadied her since gaining her side. But now, Liva wrestled herself away and gave no moment’s pause before letting her anger move her forward.

Snatching a dagger from Finan’s hip, Liva rushed at Skade. She swung the blade high, aiming for anywhere she could strike.

Warrior reflexes on high alert, Uhtred was on her in an instant. His arm wound around her waist, while his other grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade.

It all was over in mere moments. Liva slumped against Uhtred’s chest and grasped to hold onto his arms as he enveloped her from behind.

The only sound came from the logs burning in the hearth and their own heavy breaths while they all processed the last several minutes.

Tears still flowed down Liva’s face, unchecked. When she looked up, it was Sihtric’s face, his eyes on her that she could not turn away from.

His brow was ridged in bewilderment and uncertainty. And his eyes looked on her more softly.

A chuckle from Skade to their backs broke the quiet. She stepped down from her chair and wound herself around to Uhtred’s side, placing her hand atop Liva’s own. Liva’s rage had quelled but she felt the anger burn bright again at the feel of Skade’s hand on her skin.

“Though you say you do not seek out revenge, Liva Ragnarsdottir, does not mean you will not avenge when opportunity strikes. Perhaps avenging Ragnar is the path the Gods have laid at your feet. Whether you seek it or not.”

Liva could not stay to hear any more of Skade’s lies. She wanted to argue with her. Strike out at her again. Scream and cry and tell her and everyone else in the room that she did not care what path the gods set before her.

She wanted to tell them all how she had watched them from the rafters of the roof at Dunholm as they sat together and schemed. She wanted to yell that she had instead turned her back and ran. That she was a coward.

Instead, she twisted herself away from her brother and stalked past everyone’s staring eyes. She flung open the door to the hall and as she walked away, she heard the sound of more scuffling along with HIld and Osferth pleading with Uhtred. There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh and a body dropping to the ground with a grunt.

She did not turn around to see who had been hit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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assortedseaglass · 2 years ago

Text

We Have This Hope - I

Osferth x Lady-In-Waiting OFC

[Masterlist]

Summary: Aefry heard much talk about young monk who joined Uhtred's ranks. When he rescues her lady, the King's own daughter, and appears at her door, Aefry finds her interest far from quelled. Instead, it is piqued tenfold.

Story Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mentions of Violence, Strong Language

A/N: This is the first part of a mini-series based on Steadfast & Forever. This series will expand, and go beyond, that short story, especially in later chapters. As with S&F, we’re staying in Winchester for ease.

“Is it them? Or have the brutes found us?”

“No, ‘tis the King!”

“-and is our lady with them?”

“What about Edward?”

“There was a fight-”

“-their number is smaller than when they left Wintancaester-”

“Stop this incessant chatter at once.” At the Queen’s words, all three young women stilled. They looked at each other, apprehension written across each face. Through the damp night air horses’ hooves thundered like the drumming of their hearts, and the torches of the castle walls clapping in the wind. Under the flickering of their flames, the castle household held their breath. Knights, ealdormen and abbots waited, eyes flickering between the approaching party and the four women looking over the ramparts; Queen Aelswith, her hands twisting with worry, and her daughter’s three ladies-in-waiting. With one swift movement, the Queen gripped the hand of the lady beside her.

“It is her. It is Aethelflaed.” Before any could celebrate, she turned to the gathered women. “Check the fires in her chambers are still lit, and have a bath drawn. Aefry?” She added as the women turned to leave.

“Yes, my lady?”

“For however long she needs you, stay a little longer. Do not leave her side.” The lady bowed and hurried after her companions. Adburh and Saeflaed were already rounding the stone corridor towards Aethelflaed’s rooms, whispering lowly.

“He was there, did you see?”

“Which one, Saeflaed?”

“The Gael!”

“Good. You can leave the Dane for me!” The two women giggled as Aefry arrived at their side, their hurried steps falling into rhythm.

“Perhaps I will find myself captured, if they are my rescuers. Our poor Lady,” Saeflaed sighed. “Do you suppose they will bring her to us? Or have her seen by the physic first?”

“The physic, I suppose.” Aefry said as they reached the chamber doors and pushed in. “And her mother. The sooner she is here the better. She needs all the rest and solace we can offer her.” And at these words, each woman set about the room. Saeflaed hurried to the hearth, adding logs to the dwindling flames. Adburh began beating the linens and plumping the pillows. Aefry instructed a maidservant beyond the door to prepare water and herbs for a bath to be drawn. The kitchens were already heating the water, she was told.

By the time Aethelflaed was brought to her chambers, the barest tinge of pink was illuminating the dawn, such was the hour of her return. She was escorted by her mother who, alongside the three handmaidens, helped Aethelflaed undress. Her body was bruised, violent purple blooming beneath her white skin. In the hour they waited for their lady to return, many a messenger appeared at her chamber with news of her imprisonment. They tried to dishonour her. Kept her in a cage. She fought in the ensuing battle. No wonder her body bore marks of her trials. By the now roaring fire, a bath was steaming, its milky water fragrant with sage, thyme and petals from the meadow beyond the castle gates. With four pairs of gentle hands to steady her, Aethelflaed sank into the steaming water. At once, quiet tears cascaded down her ruddy cheeks. Aelswith kissed her forehead tenderly, nodded to her daughter’s ladies, and departed.

Saeflaed drew her elegant hands through Aethelflaed’s hair, softly washing away the grime of soil and blood. Adburh hummed a low tune as she rubbed oils into her lady’s legs and feet. Aefry, content to have her lady back, held her hand, her thumb soothing the skin as Aethelflaed cried.

“You are back,” she whispered. “You are safe, you are loved, you are home.” A small sob burst from Aethelflaed.

“Thank you,” she ran a finger over Aefry’s cheek. “Thank you all.”

She soaked until the water ran cold. The sun was nearing its horizon appearance when Saeflaed, Adburh and Aefry settle the princess into bed. Blackbirds were singing the melancholic call to the day, and Aefry gave thanks for the noise; her mistress’ eyes were wide with terror, nightmarish visions flashing in her memory. Silence would have been torture. Through the early dawn, her ladies-in-waiting hovered at her side, stroked her hair, and listened to her whimpered recounts of her imprisonment. Of the gentle Erik, his cruel brother Sigefrid, her escape with Uhtred and his men, and the fight for her freedom.

Æthelflæd and her ladies drifted into sleep terrorised by faceless men and their brutish abandon, and by the dawn’s true break day, only one remained sentinel over her mistress. Aefry. The youngest of Æthelflæd’s three handmaidens sat curled at the foot of her bed, her mother’s book of psalmsopen by her side.

He will command his angels concerning me, He will guard me in all my ways.

With a warm smile, Aefry looked at the sleeping women around her. At Saeflaed with her golden hair, her alabaster skin and, even in sleep, her kind smile. At Adburh, a frown holding down her brow, lips pouted as if arguing with someone. Her fire would never burn out. And her lady, Aethelflaed, sleeping in peace at last. Aefry had not been in the crown’s service long. Her father, a kind man and a knight, died on the battlefield when she was just a child. Motherless, she having perished not long after Aefry’s own birth, the small Saxon girl was sent to the convent, unbeknownst to her that the kind benefactor to which she owed her position was the King himself. Aefry’s father was a loyal man, first to Aethelred and then to Alfred. Who was he, a man of God, to cast out the child of a subject so loyal? And so it was, that when Aefry reached sixteen she was taken from her tutelage at the convent and brought before the King and Queen, newly seeking a companion for their daughter. She remembered it like it were yesterday, stood with the abbess at her shoulder in that grand hall. Two other girls were presented before the monarch also, a beauty with golden hair and a sour-faced girl who took Aefry’s hand in hers. Until Aethelflaed’s capture, they hadn’t left each other’s sides since.

The sun was high now. Almost noon. Soft fingers of sun streaked through the courtyard window into Aethelflaed’s room, and Aefry watched them stroke the stone and tapestries, noting that the dappled light against Æthelflæd’s face seemed to ease her, and she sent up another prayer of thanks. Between casting a watchful eye over the sleeping princess, Aefry’s attention drifted to the window where a mistle thrush sang its fluting midday song. Its speckled breast quivered as it lifted its joyful voice, and the lady felt her heart aglow. What a strange comfort, to know that despite the terror of these recent weeks, the world still continues to move with beauty at every turn.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Aefry’s head snapped in the direction of the door. The knocking was quiet, as though the hand behind it were tremulous, but in the hush of the castle, still following Æthelflæd’s return, she heard it. She glanced to her mistress, and to Adburh and Saeflaed beside her, but they did not stir.

KNOCK KNOCK

The sound was more tentative than before, and beneath the door Aefry saw the shadow of someone moving from foot to foot. With gentle feet she hurried to the oaken door and set it open a little. No-one. Perhaps the sleepless night had addled her mind. She wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders and stepped into the empty hall, only to find it was not empty at all.

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

The oblates and novices never strayed this far into the keep. She smiled at his bashfulness, still wary of opening her lady’s chamber door. “May I help you?”

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

“Pardon?” she stepped out into the hall. The monk coughed and looked at his feet, and she crouched so that he might look at her. Pride swelled in her chest at the rosy hue blossoming on his cheeks. She found herself gazing at him in the bright light the midday sun cast about the keep. All the holy men she knew were old, dirty, or pale from days at the altar. This man was regal, almost beautiful in his boyishness. She blanched. Who was this man, that that had this effect on her? A stranger lurking at the doorway of her mistress, with his kind eyes and gentle voice. Aefry was less scared that God knew her thoughts, and thanked Him that the Queen could not read minds. What thoughts lay behind her eyes at that very moment were not becoming of a lady’s maid.

“Lady Æthelflæd. Is she alright?” The monk said slowly, his eyebrows pinching in concern.

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

“Osferth.”

“Osferth..?”

“Just Osferth. She will know.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Osferth,”

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

“He is my brother.”

Silence thrummed between the two women. Aefry’s words died in her throat. If she was to guess, he was a year or so older than Æthelflæd. She watched her. Aethelflaed’s eyes darted to her two other companions, still snoring softly, and whispered once more. “He is my brother.”

“I don’t underst-”

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

“What? A warrior?” Aefry whispered her shock, and Æthelflæd nodded.

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

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

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

Her mistress’ last admission shocked her into the present.

“The monk?”

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

“A warrior monk-”

“And a King’s bastard,” She grimaced at Æthelflæd’s use of the word but said nothing, her mind reckoning the image of a feared Dane-lord being slain by the timid monk she met at the door. “Aefry,” Aethelflaed gripped her hand. “You mustn’t tell. Not a soul.”

Aefry covered Aethelflaed’s hand with hers. “Do you know nothing of me, my Lady?” Aethelflaed smiled, though the gesture was small. “I would not dare betray you. Besides, I have no-one to tell.”

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