#vikings ecbert

[theancientwise]

William the Conqueror conquers England and becomes its king...

Rollo, Gisla and Charles in the afterlife...

Ecbert and Ragnar...

Aethelwulf, Kwenthrith and Aelle...

Eh, my dear Ecbert and Ragnar... what goes around, comes around.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Coming Back || Björn Ironside x Oc

gifs by: unknown & @gifshistorical

Summary: Bjorn returns back to Wessex just in time for the birth of his first child with Evangeline. After being forced into marriage, it is the first time they see each other after the wedding.

—————————————————————————————

Kingdom of Wessex

“Move it!” Björn yells as he moves past servants and guards rushing around the place. Ragnar follows, amused at his son’s mood. They had just set foot back in Wessex after news came that Evangeline was expected to give birth very soon. Of course shocked, Björn wanted to be by his wife’s side when his first child is born.

The married couple had not seen each other in many months as he left right after their consummating ceremony. Although their marriage was only a political matter, Björn still cared about her.

“Ah, my son-in-law! How are you Björn?” King Ebert opens his arms wide. Björn awkwardly looks to his father before hesitating and moving closer to the King who pulls him in for a hug and a pat on the back.

“My dear Evangeline has missed your presence, but rest assured, her pregnancy has been very smooth. I pray to the God above that she delivers the child safely without much pain.” He does the sign of the cross as Björn slowly nods. “And where is she? The soon to be mother of my child?” His deep voice questions the King.

King Ecbert beckons a servant, “Take them to the birthing room,” And with that, Björn quickly follows the servant, Ragnar following suit but not before giving a look to the King.

The two walk into a hallway where they could already hear Evangeline’s cries of pain. Björn stiffened at the sound of her screams, it was his first time becoming a father so he did not know what to expect. Ragnar takes ahold of his son’s upper arm making him stop. “When you go in there, she is obviously in a lot of pain. Take her hand, comfort her. And pray to Freyja.” He says lowly to Björn who just nods before exhaling from his nose.

The servant waited in front of the door. Björn nodded and the door opened revealing his wife pacing slowly around the room. Her hands on her back as she breathed heavily. Her hair was sticking to her shiny face and her white gown slightly covered with blood. Evangeline had not yet noticed his presence in the room.

Another cry left her mouth as she threw her head back, massaging her stomach as servants press a cloth to her sweaty forehead. Ragnar stayed leaned up by the door, his eyes scanning around the room. “Evangeline…” Björn called out making the princess turn her head to his direction.

In a matter of seconds, she stormed up to him, hitting his chest a few times. “Where have you been! I have been waiting for you-“ She stopped mid sentence as she winced and leaned her head against his firm chest. “Because of you, I seem to be fighting against a demon inside my stomach!” She fumed before she turned back around and continued pacing.

Björn watched his wife in shock as she kept yelling “get out, get out, get out” over and over. He looks behind his shoulder to his father for help but Ragnar only chuckles. “Sounds like a typical Viking baby” He shrugs as Björn walks to Evangeline. He takes her shoulders, “I think you should this to the bed, yes?” He says to her with his slight accent.

“I think that is a great idea, my Prince. Let’s go lay down in the bed shall we?” An older handmaiden gently takes Evangeline’s hands and move her to the bed. Now that he was married to the Princess of Wessex, he was technically considered Prince. It sure was still new to Björn.

Evangeline laid down on the bed with her husband trailing behind, his hand on her lower back. Björn takes ahold of her hand, just like what his father told her to do, placing a kiss on her knuckles before silently praying to Freyja.

“Princess, you need to start pushing!” Evangeline screams in pain but nonetheless pushes. “What are you doing?” She says in between her yells of pain. “Praying to the Goddess Freyja, so that you safely deliver our son or daughter” Björn says as he looks her in the eyes.

She doesn’t say anything but continues to push, tears streaming down her face from the pain she was experiencing. “This baby is going to be the death of me!” She screams before she gives one final push, her hand squeezing hard with Björn’s but he did not mind.

For the first time that afternoon, the villa fell silent until the noise of a baby crying broke it . Evangeline fell back on the bed, exhausted with her eyes closed. Björn stares amazed at the newborn, his child, a daughter. The handmaiden wraps the baby in cloth before taking her to the exhausted mother.

“Look, isn’t our daughter beautiful?” Björn softly whispers in Evangeline’s ear as she slowly opens her eyes, her daughter resting on her chest as tears of joy flow down her face. Björn couldn’t stop smiling at the little human being he helped create.

“She’s beautiful,” Evangeline whispers, looking down at the baby. “What should we name her?” The Princess looks at Björn with searching eyes as he takes a moment to think before looking to his father.

“I think we should name her Ingrid. It means beautiful goddess, because I know our daughter already is one,” He smiles down at the baby, her tiny hand wrapping themselves around Björn’s finger. Evangeline’s eyes move to Björn as everyone in the room exchanges looks.

No doubt were they questioning the name of the Princess’ child as it was old norse originated. “Ingrid. Princess Ingrid. I like that name,” Evangeline says softly as Björn smiles at her and kisses her cheek.

“Where is my granddaughter!” King Ecbert rushes in and stops to see the sight infront of him. His eyes immediately soften before coming to his daughter’s side, Evangeline notices his older brother Aethulwulf standing by the door awkwardly. Evangeline carefully gives her father Ingrid as the King admires his granddaughter silently.

The young Princess beckons her older brother who takes a hesitant step forward. He moves past his father and engulfs the younger in a hug. “How are you dear sister?” He rubs her back as Evangeline lets out a breath. “I’m fine. Though rest and sleep is all I can think about right now,” She chuckles as the others around do the same.

King Ecbert than passes Ingrid to her uncle. Evangeline watch as the two fuss over her daughter as she rests her head on Björn’s chest. “Thank you for being here,” She looks up to him with a gentle smile. He says nothing but moves her closer to him and places a kiss on her forehead.

The door opened and revealed Lagertha and Ragnar. The famous Shield-maiden immediately moves to the bed where the couple laid. She engulfed Björn in a tight hug before giving Evangeline one aswell. Lagertha moves to the other side and Aethulwolf passes Ingrid to her.

“Oh she’s beautiful,” Lagertha softly says, looking at Evangeline and Björn. “What is her name?” She questions as she brushes Ingrid’s cheek. “Ingrid.” Evangeline answers with a proud smile. “Ingrid.” Ragnar nods, moving behind Lagertha to look down at the baby in her arms.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful baby,” Ragnar acknowledges with a smile and winks at the young Princess.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 55th Tilt

King Ecbert Ealhmunding, Vikings (2013-2020) VS. King Théoden, Son of Thengel, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Propaganda

King Ecbert Ealhmunding, Vikings (2013-2020) Portrayed by: Linus Roache Defeated Opponents: - Bofur [James Nesbitt], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

“Linus Roache is already incomparably hot, but inscrutable, strategic, KING Linus Roache? Is there room in that Roman bath for me?”

King Théoden, Son of Thengel, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003) Portrayed by: Bernard Hill Defeated Opponents: - Steapa [Adrian Bouchet], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

"Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!"

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For King Ecbert:

For Théoden King:

[ivarthebadbitch]

lagertha + hair

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye

Vikings FanFiction

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

If you like it, please reblog!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[lithugraph]

Athelstan/King Ecbert is just as compelling as Athelstan/Ragnar. Everyone really does want a piece of this little sad monk, huh?

[imaginesmai]

Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson

Enemies to lovers, forced-marriage and based on the Disney movie The Swan princess. Here is what is probably the work I’m proudest of. Things you need to know before reading:

- As a medieval fic, there will be typical misoginist behaviours, racisims at some points and stereotypes. 

- In this fic, Ubbe is from Mercia, not a viking, but a prince. His whole family is ruling that country, while yours rules over Wessex.

- Ivan doesn’t exist. I had to erase a brother for the plot I’M SORRY.

- It hasn’t been proof-read. So, if you find any mistake, please let me know!

Ubbe Ragnarson knew three things: that he would inherit the throne when his father died, that he should get married soon to assure that throne, and that he hated Y/N Ealhmunding. And those three facts were related. Because your hand had been promised to him since you were young kids, and now it’s time to fulfill that promise.

As princess of king Ecbert Ealhmunding, you also knew three things: that the laws for a kingdom ruler weren’t fair, that your father had done everything he could for you and your future, and that you hated Ubbe Ragnarson. Not only you hated that they had decided your future without you, or that you were expected to leave every braincell behind once you married, but also that the same boy who you had hated since childhood would be your husband.

Every summer, Mercia and Wessex try to make you both fall in love. And they fail.

But this summer is different, because a series of tragic and unfortunate events brings you closer to Ubbe than ever.

You’re no longer mischievous kids pulling pranks on each other, but responsible adults looking for what’s best for your country. And trying to survive in the meantime.

Preface:  Ubbe and you meet for the first time, foreshadowing what your relationship is going to be like.

1st part:  Just like any other summer, you have to leave your country. Just like any other summer, Ubbe has to open his to your annoying presence.

2nd part:  your sixteenth-first encounter goes as good as planned.

3rd part:  Aslaug tries to push you closer to Ubbe, leaving you in a vulnerable situation. When faced with a group of soldiers, they don't hesitate to make their opinion about you crystal clear.

4rd part:  The soldiers’ attitude forces your father to make a decision, and you finally see an end to your engagement. Only that, when presented with the chance, you’re not so sure.

5th part:  No longer under the pressure of an arranged marriage and with the hunting raid around the corner, you can almost taste your freedom. But something new awakens and neither Ubbe and you know how to deal with it.

6th part:  The morning of the hunting raid arrives, and new feelings are revealed.

7th part:  Ubbe and you take important decisions, about your future and the future of your kingdoms, not knowing that something bigger than you is happening outside the castle’s walls.

8th part:  tragedy strikes when you least expect it.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings + gen z slang

Summary: How Vikings Characters would react to Gen Z slang

Notes: back on working on requests, so i hope i can get some more oneshots out soon. happy lunar new year to everyone who celebrates!!

Tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added to any taglist!)

Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!

Ragnar

With the program

He knows that he’s a slay-queen-girlboss-cunt-serving-camp

He understands gen z slang like no other

Rizz? He’s got it. Mister Worldwide? Been there, done that.

Turns into a ninth century (?) twitter queen

Lagertha

She doesn’t really care all that much about gen z slang

“You’re slaying? Me too, but on the battlefield. Catch up.”

Pretends not to understand

Fully understands and sometimes busts down on her gen z meme culture knowledge

Aslaug

Aslaug is above gen z slang

But she also knows that she’s camp

She just knows

She’s a volva, magic is in her blood. You know what else is? An immaculate sense in fashion

That’s the only thing that might make her willing to try to understand our culture

Perfected the lightskin stare the moment she was born (it’s permanently on her face istg)

Athelstan

PLEASE NO

You know that ancient man video? Athelstan is the ancient man. Would he understand the video? No.

This would be his response: God, that girl looks terribly drunk.

As a linguist, he tries

Approaches it as a foreign language. It works to some degree.

I never want to hear the words “You’re serving girlboss today, Ragnar.” Out of his mouth

(this happened to me in a dream. Literally traumatizing)

Bjorn

Thinks it’s girlish (it is not)

Would say “You’re one of them queers?”

I mean yeah, but so is your mom.

Gen z talk isn’t cool enough for him (he’s suffering from Rollo’s internalized generational homophobia/gayness, give him some space)

Ubbe

Like a supportive mom

‘That’s wonderful sweetie. Now back to my casserole.’

Absolutely understands gen z slang after you teach him

Prides himself on having the most rizz

Boy you rizzed up a slave girl and your aunt calm down

Protects gen z slang against ivar like it’s cultural heritage

Hvitserk

Worst mistake you could make is teach him slang

He uses it

Just incorrectly

At all times

And does not care to be corrected.

Slang is a product of pop culture? Hvitserk is now making it HIS product

Deal with it (don’t. make him stfu pls.)

Sigurd

He’s one of those abcdefu people

The ones that are like ‘let me sing my new song for you, and if you don’t like it, I’ll pay for your gas’

So annoying

But also in an indie artist generational trauma daddy issues kind of way, so I can forgive him

Not really

Ivar

HATES gen z slang more than anything

He thinks it’s stupid

Dumb

Dull

Incredibly unintellectual

Secretly uses it to express his feelings in a diary he burns every week

Ecbert

ECBERT MY SILLY LITTLE GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS

Manwhore and proud!

Get this man a gag asap or you’ll live to regret the day you met him

With him and Ragnar, you’re gonna be stuck in a little hellcircle (probably to be joined by Athelstan)

Gets acrylics despite not knowing what they are and clicks with them

STOP HIM! STOP THIS SILLY LITTLE MAN!

Aethelwulf

Literally the opposite of Ecbert

If he has to spend one more second around his father speaking slang

He’ll cut off his ear to match Judith

And then the other to outdo her (he’s such a loser smh)

So done with Ecbert

He’ll literally hate everything Ecbert likes

[whitecriminalcastle]

I'm watching Vikings for the plot...

the plot:

[primarch-victus]

You know when you reach a scene with one of these two that you're about to see an absolute masterclass in acting, EVERY SINGLE TIME.

[misterrttegrimborn]

Daylight - David kushner

(my edit)

!fake blood!

[theancientwise]

I'm watching Vikings Valhalla only for the Normans and when William the Conqueror will appear, I'm 100 % sure Rollo and Emperor Charles will be so trolling Ragnar and Ecbert about that!!

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Vikings Oc

Evangeline, Princess of Wessex

gifs by @myrcella

Alexandra of Northumbria

gif by @anakintargaryens

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 22nd Tilt

King Ecbert Ealhmunding, Vikings (2013-2020) VS. Bofur, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Propaganda

King Ecbert Ealhmunding, Vikings (2013-2020) Portrayed by: Linus Roache

“Linus Roache is already incomparably hot, but inscrutable, strategic, KING Linus Roache? Is there room in that Roman bath for me?”

Bofur, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014) Portrayed by: James Nesbitt

“He's got that grin about him. And a silly hat. All hot men should have silly hats. For enrichment.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For King Ecbert:

For Bofur:

[ivarthebadbitch]

ecbert + the roman bath

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye - [Vikings Fanfiction]

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

Next 》

Chapter 1

The dim light of the sunset filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows across the room. That light was the most beautiful of the day, yet Selethryth was not looking at the orange sky visible from the window. Instead, the young woman was staring at her reflection in the mirror. She wished she could focus on how the white dress she wore clung to her form so perfectly or admire the way the jewels around her neck sparkled in the fading light. Perhaps she longed to notice how her servant had combed her long hair, making it shine under the warm glow. But she didn't.

Selethryth's gaze was fixed on her own eyes reflected in the glass. How she would have loved to simply look at herself and indulge in the vanity so common among girls her age, like her older sister Eadgifu. But instead, she could only stare and despise what she saw: two eyes, each a different color. One was blue, as clear as the winter sky, while the other was deep brown, like the earth after rain. They never seemed to meet, never seemed to belong together, and in their strange contrast, she was forced to remember how everybody saw her. What everybody called her.

The Witch of Wessex, they whispered behind her back.

Selethryth could feel their stares—the cold eyes that followed her every time she entered the church to pray, as if everyone were waiting for her to burst into flames the moment her feet crossed the threshold of God's house. But it wasn't just in the church where she felt their gaze. At court, the nobles watched her with the same cold curiosity. They tried to hide it behind forced smiles and polite conversation, but she could see the hesitation in their eyes, the way they looked at her as though she might somehow ruin their day with a single glance. They spoke in low voices, making sure their words didn't reach her, but she knew they were discussing her—her strange eyes, the rumors that surrounded her, the whispers that always followed her wherever she went. Their attention was heavy, almost suffocating, and it made her skin prickle with discomfort.

And then, there were the servants. She could sense their wariness as they brought her food, prepared her bath, or combed her hair. Their movements were careful, hesitant, as if afraid that to meet her gaze might invite some curse. As though her eyes alone could condemn them with a glance

The only curse was the one God had cast upon Selethryth the day she was born. The reality of her deformity had shaped her life from an early age. God did not like differences. Any mark, any strange physical feature, was a sign—a sign that the Devil had touched her soul. And nothing could take that away. Her mother, Lady Oswyth, had always told her that, especially when she tried to make Selethryth wash her face with holy water. But it never worked. The water only made her eyes sting. Not even the long days of fasting, meant to regain God's favor, had done any good. And the countless hours of holy lessons—prayers, chants, teachings—hadn't changed anything. If anything, they only made how people perceived her worse.

She remembered the days in her father Lord Godric's castle as sad and lonely, a time when the walls seemed to close in on her, filled with whispers and fearful glances. Her family, devout and strict, had never known how to treat her.

It was during one of those lonely days that they had traveled to King Ecbert's court, as guests. Selethryth's father, eager to seek favor with the King, had hoped the visit would bring some benefit to his lands. And it did—but not in the way her family had expected. For it was Selethryth, not her father, who caught the favor of the King of Wessex.

"My lady is ready," the voice of the woman behind her made Selethryth look up.

"Thank you, Hilda," she said, gathering the skirt of her gown so she could rise more comfortably. "The King awaits."

Selethryth had met the King at the age of five, during a feast. King Ecbert had summoned his loyal lords, as was custom in their lands, to share meals, words, and strategy. Ensuring the loyalty of his lords was something a monarch had to do if he wished to keep the peace.

Selethryth still remembered the first time she entered the Royal Villa. She had been so small back then. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly, towering above her like silent sentinels. But they were nothing like the dark, oppressive walls of her father's castle. There, in Lord Godric's home, every corner seemed to hold a whisper, every shadow a secret. The air was thick with the weight of superstition and fear. But the Royal Villa—Ecbert's villa—was different. The light filtered in through high windows, warm and inviting. The laughter of nobles and the clink of goblets filled the air, and for a moment, she had felt like just another child at a feast, surrounded by the bright colors and sounds of the court. She held no memory of whispers; she was too focused on her dress and the many noble people around her.

Now, after ten years, she had lived many feasts like those, and the whispers had returned. Perhaps they had even grown louder.

"My dear, Selethryth," the King's voice reached her as she opened the door to his chambers.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she answered, bowing with elegance.

King Ecbert was seated on a carved wooden chair in front of a table laden with a simple but rich spread—enough for two, yet lavish for such an intimate setting. There was a roast pheasant, its golden skin crisped to perfection, surrounded by steamed root vegetables—parsnips and carrots—that had been lightly seasoned with herbs. A dish of pickled onions and cabbage sat beside it, the tangy scent cutting through the richness of the meat. To one side, there was a small bowl of soft, warm bread, the edges still steaming, and a wheel of cheese made from the finest milk of the local farms. A flagon of dark red wine gleamed in the dim light of the chamber.

The King gestured for her to sit. "Come, child. You must be hungry."

Selethryth smiled at him before making her way toward the chair set aside for her.

"Forgive me for being late," she said, but the King waved his hand dismissively, signaling that there was no need for apologies.

She nodded in acknowledgment, then reached out to fill her plate with the dishes in front of her. As her hand hovered over the food, her gaze drifted to the empty chair on the other side of the King. Lady Judith was not there. That meant he must have heard.

Selethryth was frequently invited to dine with the King, his daughter-in-law and mistress, Judith, and sometimes with his son, Prince Alfred. But tonight, the table was set for two.

Selethryth was the ward of the King, which granted her many privileges and advantages. And she knew that people were sure she had bewitched the monarch to elevate the position of her family and herself. She could swear she had never done anything on purpose to earn the King's favor. But that didn't mean he didn't believe she had some power—that she was, in fact, a witch...

"The physician told me you had trouble sleeping last night," the King said, chewing a piece of chicken, his gaze intent upon her.

Selethryth averted her eyes, knowing full well that the King didn't want her taking any tonic to ease her troubled dreams. The medicine would dull her memory of them, and she would not be able to recall the visions that haunted her.

"I had a bad headache, Your Grace," she explained quietly, her voice carefully neutral. "My sister thought it best that I take something to ease it."

"So it was not a dream?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Selethryth shook her head, a faint, practiced smile on her lips. "No, Your Grace," she replied softly. "I was simply not feeling well."

"Good," he said, his voice pleased. "If that's the case, I'm glad you've found a remedy for your headache."

Selethryth bowed her head in silent acknowledgment, before reaching for her goblet and taking a sip of water. King Ecbert could be kind, but she knew he was also a man of immense ambition, and the reason for her position at court was a clear example of that.

Since the Witch of Wessex had entered the King's court, the power of Wessex had grown immeasurably. Before that, no one would have thought that the King with the smallest lands would become the ruler of both Wessex and Mercia. But the whispers—those whispers that never ceased—spoke of superstition. The people believed that her strange appearance, her eyes that were unlike any other, had played a part in Ecbert's rise. They said she had cursed the late Queen Kwenthrith, causing her subjects to turn against her, allowing the King to seize his opportunity and fulfill his ambition.

But that wasn't what had happened.

Selethryth had cast no spell. She had made no curse. She had been five years old. A child, too young to know the weight of ambition or power. She had simply had a nightmare—a terrifying dream of the end of Queen Kwenthrith's reign.

That night, terrified, she had confided in King Ecbert. A few days later, the message arrived: the Queen's position in Mercia had become precarious, and her rule soon crumbled. Ecbert, ever the strategist, saw it as a sign. From that day forward, he had taken her as his ward, believing that she had been touched by God—that her strange eyes were a blessing, not a curse. He was sure that she had been sent to him for some reason; she was a tool for his greater ambitions, a pawn he could use to shape the future of his kingdom.

Selethryth had never quite agreed with him though. His words, even if not touched by hate, were still saying that there was something different in her. To him, she possessed magic, and that was not a sign that God favored her. But the very contrary. The Devil was behind those manifestations, her mother had always told her that.

Lady Oswyth never understood why the King held her daughter in such high regard. She had always seen Selethryth's eyes and dreams to be a sign that the Devil loved her daughter. And she had begged her husband to leave the child to the mad King and never return. She did not want to be surrounded by sinners who favored the way of the Devil. But Lord Godric cared more about the position of his family than sins. That didn't mean that he was grateful to Selethryth. She barely saw him.

Even if she didn't quite understand if King Ecbert was a man with a deep, open mind, or a mad one, she knew that even if he didn't want her to take proper sleep and wanted to know everything about her dreams, he had, in his own way, taken care of her, ensuring that she was well-educated and well-protected. Over the years, his affection for her had grown, not just for her dreams, but for her mind. "You are very intelligent, Selethryth," he often said. She had become more than just a ward to him; she had become a confidante, a quiet observer in his court, someone whose opinion he valued, if only in secret.

Her position granted her privileges—privileges that many other women of her station would never know. She had been given access to the finest tutors in the kingdom, and through them, she had learned many things. She knew Latin and Greek, languages that were considered the foundation of knowledge. She had studied rhetoric and philosophy, learning the basics of logic and debate. She had even studied herbs and medicine with the court physician, who practically lived at her side.

Ecbert had seen the potential in her not only as a vessel for prophecy but as a sharp mind capable of understanding the world beyond the court. Her education was his way of preparing her for something greater. He believed she would be an important ally—an asset to his cause, an asset to his cause, and to the future of his kingdom.

"Alfred told me you are teaching him how to dance," the King said with fondness, as he always did when speaking of Alfred. Everyone knew that Prince Alfred was not Ecbert's nephew, since Judith had conceived him with a monk allied with the Heathens. Just thinking about it made Selethryth hear her mother's disapproving tone, as if Judith were her own daughter. But Selethryth had grown up with Alfred, and he was kind and intelligent. She enjoyed spending time with the Prince and hated the way her mother whispered about him and Judith.

The King's mistress was a very different woman from the rest of the court. She valued culture and opinions, regardless of whether they came from a man or a woman. Judith carried herself with such confidence that Selethryth often found herself admiring the lady. She had committed adultery, and for that, one of her ears had been cut off, but she held her head high, proud and undeterred. Selethryth often wondered how she managed. The young lady still felt everything around her so heavy, both the weight of courtly politics and the harshness of her religious family.

"He wanted to play chess," she answered the King, who smiled. "I asked for a dance in return."

Ecbert chuckled. "He is quite fond of you," he said, taking a sip from his goblet. "I'm glad that you've grown to become such a precious friend to one another."

Selethryth smiled. "As do I."

"Tomorrow morning we are going hunting," the King announced. "Would you like to come hawking with us?"

It wasn't unusual for the King to ask her that, and Selethryth liked riding across the prairies, even though she knew that King Ecbert's son would also be coming. Aethelwulf was never rude to her, but out of all the King's family, he was the one who trusted her the least. He looked at her with suspicion and weariness. Selethryth was used to it, but it was easier to hide in the castle when someone looked at her that way. Out on the open plains, however, there was nowhere to go; she would just have to endure. She knew she couldn't refuse the King, or her father would not be pleased.

"I shall tell my father, Your Grace," she said, bowing to show gratitude. "Thank you, for your kind invitation."

When she returned to the chambers she shared with her family, her mother's gaze was immediately upon her, sharp and disapproving. Oswyth always found it improper for her daughter to have private audiences with the King. It was a matter of status, of propriety—things Selethryth had little control over. But her father, Lord Godric, would never allow her to turn down Ecbert. To him, she was a tool—already labeled a witch—and it was better that she be used by the King than not used at all. He cared little if her reputation was further tarnished, as long as their family grew in power.

Selethryth didn't bother to try and explain herself anymore. There were too many people pulling her in different directions, seeking to manipulate her for their own gain—the King, her father, even her mother. And when it came to the court, she preferred not to think about how they saw her. She could see it in her mother's eyes every day, and it was a pain she didn't want to endure. Selethryth felt like she was tied to a log, floating helplessly down a rushing river. She couldn't escape, and she couldn't drown; she could only keep drifting along on endless, merciless days.

"Mother thinks the King wants you in his bed," Selethryth heard her sister Eadgifu murmur, her voice heavy with an accusation as Hilda combed Selethryth's hair before bed.

"She should quit speaking such madness," Selethryth replied sharply, gesturing for Hilda to leave them alone. Once the door clicked shut behind the servant, Selethryth turned to face her sister fully. "And she shouldn't speak such things when servants are around."

"They already speak about you," Eadgifu said, her eyes narrow with concern, though there was a hint of something else there—something darker that made Selethryth's chest tighten.

"So we should give them more reason to?" Selethryth retorted, rising from her chair and pacing a little, her frustration rising. "Let them gossip, let them talk. It's what they do best, after all."

Eadgifu's face was pale, her lips pressed tightly together, and her eyes flickered nervously toward the door. "You should pray it is the truth," she answered, her voice trembling slightly with worry. "No one but our family and the King know about your dreams, Selethryth. And if he adores you without ulterior motives, people will surely start to believe you're a witch."

Selethryth froze, the word hanging in the air like a curse. Her heart beat louder in her chest. Witch.

"I'm not a witch!" she hissed, her voice a harsh whisper, her eyes darting quickly to the door. She could feel the cold stone walls closing in on her as if the entire castle was listening, waiting for her to make a mistake. She stepped closer to her sister, her face tight with panic. "Please, Eadgifu, don't speak of such things. Don't speak of me that way."

Eadgifu's face softened for a moment, but her expression was still tinged with worry. "Selethryth," she said, her voice laced with a kind of fearful tenderness that only a deeply religious person could have. "You know how dangerous this is. Just a word from Rome and you'll be accused of witchcraft."

Selethryth could feel her eyes fill with tears, "I have done nothing," she whispered to her sister, "They are nothing but dreams. Just dreams. And my eyes..."

"The Lord gives us signs, sister," in her voice Selethryth could feel all her sadness, "Your eyes and dreams are signs." Then she took Selethryth's face in her hands, "I love you sister, I do."

Selethryth looked at her with pleading eyes, "I'm not a witch." She insisted in a whisper.

Eadgifu didn't respond immediately. Instead, she lowered her gaze and crossed herself, as though praying for guidance. It was a ritual, almost automatic for her, as if asking God for protection—something Selethryth had long ago stopped believing in. Not when she had seen the way God treated her.

"The physician will be here soon," Eadgifu murmured, her voice softer now. The physician, assigned to her by King Ecbert, had been a quiet, ever-watchful presence. He helped her, but he also spied on her for the King.

"I know," she said flatly, getting away from her sister so that she could walk towards her bed. Selethryth lied down pulling the covers up to her chin. The night felt colder than usual, and the weight of her own thoughts pressed down on her like a stone.

Her sister hesitated before getting into her own bed, as if unsure whether to speak again. After a long silence, Eadgifu whispered, almost as if to herself, "I pray for you everyday, dear sister." She said, "I love you, no matter what."

Selethryth's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't answer. Instead, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in her stomach. Tomorrow would come with its own burdens. It always did.

After the physician's visit, Selethryth managed to fell asleep. But this time it was not an empty slumber.

She was flying. It felt beautiful to fly.

The wind tugged at her, wild and unrelenting, as the land beneath her shifted, a vast, endless stretch of green trees and towering mountains. The sky above was a brilliant blue, the likes of which she had never seen before. No castles. No walls. Just people—small wooden houses dotting the landscape, their inhabitants running freely, laughing, untouched by fear.

Selethryth felt the wind in her hair, the vastness of the world spread beneath her, but something was wrong. There was an emptiness in the air, a void that gnawed at her.

The raven appeared, its dark wings cutting through the sky like a shadow. It was not a young bird, but old and tired, its flight heavy with exhaustion. Selethryth's heart tightened as she watched it fly, slow and deliberate, its eyes distant. It was alone. It had no place to land.

She followed, drawn to the raven as if it had some purpose that she could not understand. Below, four figures moved about their lives, unbothered by the raven's presence. But one—one figure, lying on the ground—looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers. She felt a strange pull toward him, but the raven beckoned her onward.

She followed.

The raven soared across the sky, leading her over forests and waters, through lands she did not recognize but somehow knew. The landscape changed, familiar yet foreign. She could not place it. The raven's wings beat slowly, as though it had been flying for too long, its journey near its end.

It was joined by an owl. White, graceful, the owl flew beside the raven, as if they had known each other for years, perhaps even lifetimes. Their wings brushed in a final, bittersweet dance. But then the raven broke away, and Selethryth felt the shift in the air. The sadness was palpable, thickening the sky around them.

She could not stop. She followed. She had to.

The raven flew on. For days? For weeks? The passage of time felt irrelevant. Only the raven mattered, its flight, its weariness, its sorrow.

And then, with no warning, the raven faltered. Its wings failed. It could fly no more. Selethryth watched as it struggled, helpless against the force of its own exhaustion. It landed, clumsy and slow, and the earth seemed to swallow it whole. The raven collapsed.

A snake appeared, slithering from the earth, its scales glistening in the dim light. It circled the fallen bird, and without hesitation, it devoured it whole.

Selethryth's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, to stop it, but she could do nothing. She was powerless.

And then, the land began to change.

The earth rotted, turning black and foul. The sun disappeared, leaving only darkness. The world around her trembled with fear and despair. The cries of the dying echoed in the distance, the air thick with sorrow.

Selethryth wanted to flee, but she couldn't move. Her wings had failed her, too.

"How have we come to this?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

The darkness closed in around her. Everything was lost.

And then, as if the world itself were ending, Selethryth felt herself falling. Her wings could not save her. She was plummeting, faster and faster, toward the ground. The earth rushed up to meet her, and she closed her eyes, bracing for impact. She knew what was coming.

And then, as she hit the ground, she woke up screaming.

*******

Taglist: @g-cf2020 @ugh-whytho

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

If you liked it, please leave a heart ❤️ and reblog!