#King's Field III

[moonlightfaust]

キングスフィールドⅢ　～パイロット・スタイル～ King's Field III: Pilot Style (PS1, 1996)

#! CURSED ! #キングスフィールドⅢ #キングスフィールド #King's Field III #King's Field #Fromsoftware #Fromsoft #Dungeon Crawler #RPG #Playstation #PS1

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

alright, got the other 2 all set up to see tomorrow if they don't destroy my eyes

#yes I put the JP covers on the USA versions the USA covers suck ass #king's field #king's field II #king's field III #gaming in the moonsink #I could of course also just resign myself to play Shadow Tower Abyss but I don't want to play as guy that has an actual player model

[blackswaneuroparedux]

No man is a leader until he is ratified in the minds and hearts of his men.

- Field Marshal Sir Bill Slim, 1st Viscount Slim (1891-1970)

I’m not the only one, as an army veteran, to have gotten goosebumps when the assembled soldiers of all the regiments of the British armed forces cheered their new king and commander-in-chief. I never felt more proud to have had the privilege to serve in the best army in the world.

The newly crowned King Charles III inspected thousands of military personnel who lined up in the lush gardens of Buckingham Palace as he returned from Westminster Abbey. King Charles and Queen Camilla stepped out onto the West Terrace steps to look upon the assembled four thousand men and women who hadn’t faced him throughout the coronation procession but had led the way. This was their opportunity to see their sovereign face to face. And it was glorious. The gusto of the ‘hip hip hurrays’ was incredible, more so because it was sincere.

Those who have served in the British armed services - and those relatives and friends who have someone they know who serves or has served - know how deep the bond is between the royal family and the regiments that make up the British army as well as of course the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force. The royals have faithfully served as colonel-in-chiefs of many regiments and corps, and they have taken the responsibility seriously.

When he was the Prince of Wales, Charles was the colonel-in-chief of the Army Air Corps and he took particular interest in the welfare of the men and women of the regiments. He was very personable and appreciative of the service of every soldier and officer did, and in return he earned the loyalty and respect of every serving soldier I knew.

While King Charles III may be the head of the whole of the UK's Armed Forces, there is one company with which the sovereign has a special connection. The King's Company Grenadier Guards have a role at the centre of every coronation, but their relationship with His Majesty is far more personal than that - he is also their Company Commander.

One of the oldest bodies of troops in the Army, the King's Company was founded in 1656, even pre-dating the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660. Following King Charles II's defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651, he escaped to Holland with the help of loyalists, who hid him and helped him throughout his exile and with his plan to return to the throne. From these loyalists, the King created his most trusted personal troops, that would go on to become the Life Guards and the Grenadier Guards. King Charles II ordered that the command of the first company of the first regiment of Foot Guards would be reserved for him, and they would be known as The King's Own Company.

In 1656, the exiled King Charles II issued the first Colour bearing his cypher to The King's Own Company. Every monarch since has presented their company with their own Royal Standard. King Charles III presented a new Colour bearing his cypher interlaced and reversed with his crown to The King's Company.

In keeping with tradition, this new Royal Standard is of heavily gold embroidered and tasselled silk and it is much larger than the standard regimental Colours seen elsewhere on parade in the modern Army - the fabric alone is more than 6ft square.

The King's Company Colour, Royal Standard of the Regiment, has personal significance to both King Charles and Queen Camilla, as Her Majesty is the new Royal Colonel Grenadier Guards. A smaller version of the Royal Standard of the regiment is also commissioned and is proudly flown above the Captain's office desk in barracks or on the wall of the operations room if deployed abroad.  The smaller version is simply known as the Company Camp Colour and will be laid upon the coffin after the monarch's death and buried, as happened with the late Queen Elizabeth.

A lesser-known fact is that The King's Company does not have a sitting company commander, because the reigning monarch vested the executive authority for the daily administration of the company to a trusted and favoured subject, the appointment being designated the Captain Lieutenant – the title means quite literally to hold or 'tenant' the Captaincy, in lieu of the King. Shortened nowadays to simply 'The Captain' (who holds the rank of Major), this appointment has persisted for 367 years with 136 Captains over time leading the company on a Sovereign's behalf.

Due to this arrangement and to prevent any confusion, The King's Company second in command (who holds the rank of captain) is referred to as 'The Second Captain.' Within the wider regiment, all members of the company are collectively known as and nicknamed The Monarch's Mob.

The new sovereign assumed command of The Sovereign's Company on accession, meaning that on the death of Queen Elizabeth II in September 2022, the company's name changed from The Queen's Company back to The King's Company. The connection of the sovereign to the company is a close one beyond the public ceremonial, as the Captain will update the sovereign regularly on the company’s activities and operational commitments. Every Christmas, the King will receive The Captain's Statement, a brief annual report, along with a leather-bound photo album containing photographs of The Company's year. The soldiers who serve under the Captain are among the fittest and most able Guardsmen in the regiment and must demonstrate the highest values and standards and aspire to excellence.

It was fitting that it was the King’s Company that led the three cheers to the newly coronated King.

Vivat Regina Camilla! Vivat Rex Carolus! Vivat! Vivat! Vivat!

#slim #field marshal slim #quote #leadership #leader #coronation #british army #king charles III #monarchy #british #military #royal navy #RAF #armed forces #king's company #grenadier guards #salute #army air corps #royal standard #royalty #regiment

[zombiezonurlawn]

Can we start like. a trend of showing our blorbos. I’m so horribly curious about people’s strange and mysterious character obsessions with the blorbos on their tv shows, I’ll start

#this is humiliating #riddler #riddler 2022 #saul goodman #kim wexler #nacho varga #jesse pinkman #breaking bad #better call saul #calvin weir fields #ruby sparks #king george iii #hamilton musical #glados #portal #portal 2 #wheatley #klitz #the girl next door #pearl steven universe #constantly convincing myself that I am normal about normal characters who are normal like me

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The Strange Historical Origins of the Humpty Dumpty Nursery Rhyme

By Carl Seaver | 24 January 2023

Nearly all children who grew up during the twentieth century are familiar with the nursery rhyme of Humpty Dumpty.

This modern version of the short rhyme runs as follows:

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;

All the King’s horses

And all the King’s men,

Couldn’t put Humpty together again.”

So far, the story is quite simple. However, there is a much wider story to how this nursery rhyme came into existence and developed over five or six hundred years.

This is the story of the strange historical origins of the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme.

The Modern Origins of Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty has been around for centuries, but the modern, standardized version of the rhyme is largely derived from the version published by an English publisher and organist Samuel Arnold in 1797. This ran:

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Four-score Men and Four-score more,

Could not make Humpty Dumpty where he was before.”

Slight evolutions occurred after that throughout the nineteenth century until the twentieth-century version was arrived at.

Was Richard III the inspiration for Humpty Dumpty?

The Humpty Dumpty rhyme can be traced back to at least the late fifteenth century and is an allusion to King Richard III.

Richard III briefly reigned as King of England between 1483 and 1485 after his brother, King Edward IV, passed away.

Edward was to be succeeded by his son and namesake, Edward V, but as the young Edward was a minor in 1483, Richard was chosen to serve as regent until he reached adulthood.

Richard can hardly be said to have honored his brother’s faith in him and quickly placed young Edward and his younger brother Richard in the Tower of London, from where they never reappeared.

The assumption is Richard had his two young nephews killed, and thereafter, he usurped the throne.

He did not go unchallenged in this, and Henry Tudor, a Welsh upstart, overthrew him in 1485 by defeating Richard in combat at the Battle of Bosworth Field.

All of this is relevant to Humpty Dumpty because Richard suffered from scoliosis and was a hunchback.

Additionally, his horse was allegedly called ‘Wall.’

So, in later years, when figures such as the great playwright William Shakespeare wrote about Richard, they emphasized his humped back.

By modern standards of ethics, it hardly seems acceptable to refer to somebody with a physical disability as ‘Humpty Dumpty,’ but this seems to have been a reference to Richard’s humped back.

When the rhyme refers to him falling off of a ‘wall,’ this would seem to be a reference to his horse, which Richard is recorded as falling off of at the Battle of Bosworth Field.

The King’s soldiers and men are a reference to his forces at the battle being unable to win the day against Henry Tudor’s army.

Other Possible Origins of Humpty Dumpty

Richard III’s story is the most plausible origin of the Humpty Dumpty rhyme, but several others exist.

Some suggest that Humpty Dumpty is a derivative of a Swedish or Germanic fairy tale character, many of which were immortalized by the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen in the nineteenth century.

There is also a plausible link to seventeenth and eighteenth-century slang terms.

For instance, Humpty Dumpty was a drink consumed in Stuart-era Britain composed of a mix of brandy and ale.

This, combined with other pejorative terms which were used at the time to refer to people of shorter stature, would suggest that at least in the eighteenth century before Arnold publicized the largely modernized version of the rhyme, Humpty Dumpty was a bawdy, insulting comedic figure of some sort which term was widely applied to people when inebriated.

Humpty Dumpty and the English Civil War

One final interpretation is that Humpty Dumpty was the name of a large piece of ordnance, or a canon, which was mounted on the walls of the town of Colchester in the mid-seventeenth century.

During the 1640s, England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland were enveloped by a series of conflicts collectively known as the Wars of the Three Kingdoms or the English Civil War in England.

Colchester was besieged during the civil war between King Charles I and the English Parliament in 1648.

Humpty Dumpty was the name of a huge canon atop the town’s walls.

The Royalists, the King’s supporters, held the town while the Parliamentarians besieged it.

The wall, which Humpty Dumpty was perched on top of, was shattered by parliamentary ordnance fire, and Humpty Dumpty fell off this great wall.

The King’s Men, in this interpretation, were the Royalists, who could not remount the canon, and eventually, after an eleven-week siege of Colchester, were forced to surrender to the Parliamentary forces.

Again, the theory that the Humpty Dumpty rhyme originates in the siege of Colchester in 1648 is speculative.

What seems clear from all of this is that there is no one origin story for the Humpty Dumpty rhyme.

Rather, it was a rhyme inherited from the early modern world from medieval times.

Each successive generation reimagined it to suit the circumstances of their age, whether that was Richard III falling from his horse in 1485, a canon falling from the walls of Colchester in 1648, or somebody who had drank too much brandy and ale falling over in the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries.

Each generation brought its interpretation to the rhyme we all know today.

#Humpty Dumpty #Samuel Arnold #King Richard III #Battle of Bosworth Field #Henry Tudor #King Edward IV #Edward V #Brothers Grimm #Hans Christian Andersen #Wars of the Three Kingdoms #English Civil War

[mendelpalace]

Elden Ring: First Person Souls

A mod of Elden Ring that allows you to switch to a first-person perspective. While not exactly seamless, it's still pretty impressive, with a number of tweaks to make the change in perspective function. At its best, it gives hints of what a modern take on King's Field might look like.

A similar project also exists for Dark Souls III:

#Elden Ring #King's Field #First Person Souls Project #Dark Souls #Dark Souls III #Video #Game Mods #Youtube

[historygoodies]

King Richard III badge

King Richard III of England

by CreativeHistory

#King Richard #Richard III #King in the car park #Bosworth Field #usurper #rebellion #Duke of Gloucester #Yorkist #House of York #English history #English King #Zazzle #badge #history gift

[historydailyfrancischappellblack]

King Richard III Was Defeated and Killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field, Thus Ushering in the House of Tudor. August 22, 1485

Image: Battle of Bosworth, as depicted by Philip James de Loutherbourg (1740–1812) (Wikimedia Commons.)

On this day in history, in the last battle of the War of the Roses, King Richard III was defeated and killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field by Henry Tudor, the Earl of Richmond. After the battle, the royal crown, which Richard wore into action, was plucked out of a bush and placed on Henry's head. His crowning as King Henry VII initiated the rule of the Tudor dynasty over England, one that would last until Queen Elizabeth died in 1603.

History Daily: 365 Fascinating Happenings Volume 1 & Volume 2 - August 22, 1485

Created of dynastic conflicts within the English Houses of York and Lancaster, the Wars of the Roses began in 1455 when Richard, Duke of York, clashed with Lancasterian forces loyal to the mentally unstable King Henry VI. Fighting continued over the next five years, with both sides seeing periods of ascendancy. Following the death of Richard in 1460, the leadership of the Yorkist cause passed to his son Edward, Earl of March. A year later, with the aid of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, he was crowned Edward IV and secured the throne with a victory at the Battle of Towton.

When Edward IV died unexpectedly in 1483, his brother, Richard of Gloucester, assumed the position of Lord Protector for the twelve-year-old Edward V. Securing the young king in the Tower of London with his younger brother, the Duke of York, Richard approached Parliament and argued that Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was invalid making the two boys illegitimate. Accepting this argument, Parliament passed the Titulus Regius, which saw Gloucester crowned as Richard III. The two boys vanished during this time. Many nobles soon opposed Richard III's reign, and in October 1483, the Duke of Buckingham led a rebellion to place the Lancastrian heir Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, on the throne. Thwarted by Richard III, the collapse of the uprising saw many of Buckingham's supporters join Tudor in exile in Brittany.

That Christmas, Henry announced his intention to marry the late King Edward IV's daughter, Elizabeth of York, to unite the Houses of York and Lancaster and advance his claim to the English throne. On April 16, 1485, Richard's wife, Anne Neville, died, clearing the way for him to marry Elizabeth instead.

This threatened Henry's efforts to unite his supporters with those of Edward IV, who saw Richard as a usurper. Richard's position was undercut by rumors that he had Anne killed to allow him to marry Elizabeth, which alienated some of his supporters. Eager to prevent Richard from marrying his prospective bride, Henry mustered 2,000 men and sailed from France on August 1. Landing at Milford Haven seven days later, he quickly captured Dale Castle. Moving east, Henry worked to enlarge his army and gained the support of several Welsh leaders. Alerted to Henry's landing on August 11, Richard ordered his army to muster and assemble at Leicester.

Before leaving France, Henry communicated with Thomas Stanley, Baron Stanley, and his brother Sir William Stanley to seek their support. Upon learning of the landing at Milford Haven, the Stanleys had mustered around 6,000 men and had effectively screened Henry’s advance. During this time, he continued to meet with the brothers to secure their loyalty and support. Arriving at Leicester on August 20, Richard united with John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, and Henry Percy, Duke of Northumberland.

Pressing west with around 10,000 men, they intended to block Henry’s advance. Henry, an inexperienced military leader, turned command of his army over to John de Vere, Earl of Oxford.

After exchanges of arrows, the two forces collided, and hand-to-hand combat ensued. Oxford's soldiers began to gain the upper hand by forming his men into an attacking wedge. With Norfolk under heavy pressure, Richard called for aid from Northumberland. This was not forthcoming, and the rearguard did not move. While some speculate that this was due to personal animosity between the duke and king, others argue that the terrain prevented Northumberland from reaching the fight. The situation was worsened when Norfolk was struck in the face with an arrow and killed.

With the battle raging, Henry decided to move forward with his lifeguard to meet the Stanleys. Spotting this move, Richard sought to end the fight by killing Henry. Leading forward a body of 800 cavalry, Richard skirted around the primary battle and charged after Henry's group. Richard slammed into them and killed Henry's standard bearer and several bodyguards. Seeing this, Sir William Stanley led his men into the fight to defend Henry. Surging forward, they nearly surrounded the king’s men. Pushed back towards the marsh, Richard was unhorsed and forced to fight on foot. Fighting bravely to the end, Richard was finally cut down. Learning of Richard’s death, Northumberland's men began withdrawing, and those battling Oxford fled.

Losses for the Battle of Bosworth Field are not known with any certainty though some sources indicate that the Yorkists suffered 1,000 dead, while Henry’s army lost 100. The accuracy of these numbers is a subject of debate. After the battle, legend states that Richard's crown was found in a hawthorn bush near where he died. Henry was crowned king later that day on a hill near Stoke Golding. Henry, now King Henry VII, had Richard’s body stripped and thrown over a horse to be taken to Leicester. There it was displayed for two days to prove that Richard was dead. Moving to London, Henry consolidated his hold on power, establishing the Tudor Dynasty. Following his official coronation on October 30, 1485, he pledged to marry Elizabeth of York. While Bosworth Field effectively decided the Wars of the Roses, Henry was forced to fight again two years later at the Battle of Stoke Field to defend his newly won crown.

ON SALE NOW!!!

History Daily: 365 Fascinating Happenings Volume 1

In the United States:

History Daily: 365 Fascinating Happenings Volume 1: January – June: Chappell Black, Francis: 9780991855865: Amazon.com: Books

In Canada:

History Daily: 365 Fascinating Happenings Volume 1: January – June: Chappell Black, Francis: 9780991855865: Books – Amazon.ca

#history daily #1400s #War of the Roses #Henry Tudor #King Richard III #Battle of Bosworth Field #King Henry VII

[middleofrow]

Jonathan's Favorite Albums of 2022

Jonathan’s Favorite Albums of 2022

(more…)

View On WordPress

#A Place For Owls #Being Funny In A Foreign Language #Birds in the Ceiling #Deathrattle Sing for Me #Expert In A Dying Field #Future Teens #John Moreland #Kendrick Lamar #King&039;s Disease III #Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers #Nas #Norma Jean #Ramona Park Broke My Heart #Self Help #The 1975 #The Beths #The Hum Goes on Forever #the wonder years #Vince Staples

[paulthepoke]

This Week in Prophecy: Bibi's Back, Energy, Russia & Jordan, Wuhan Lockdown

On This Week in Prophecy… Benjamin Netanyahu will be the Prime Minister of Israel again. Netanyahu’s coalition collected 64 of the 120 seats in Israel’s parliament. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2022/11/3/netanyahu-and-far-right-declared-winners-in-israeli-elections ~ United Kingdom Prime Minister Rishi Sunak has changed his mind. Previously in August of 2022, Sunak indicated he sees…

View On WordPress

#Black Sea #china #COVID 19 #Covid Camps #COVID Zero #diesel #energy #grain #Israel #jerusalem #Jordan #Karish gas field #King Charles III #lockdowns #natural gas #oil #Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu #refugees #Rishi Sunak #Russia #Syria #Wuhan Virus

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: “You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || 18 + Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse.

Along this trip of false hope, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest; an old shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. You were told to fear the Ghost of the Forest, but never had you known you'd be caught in his blackened claws.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || 18+ Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There is an arsonist in your city, and you're going to catch him. As one of the most prolific investigative journalists in the city, you make a lot of enemies the second your papers are released to the public. Your informant - and perhaps something more - in the local fire department makes a point to tell you to be careful.

But everyone knows he's right beside you when the fires start sparking.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

7. MOSS, BONE, AND A FALLING STAR || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Witch Hunter!Price x F!Witch!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Humans have not been kind to you, but they usually are to things that they don't understand. You're offered a deal when a rugged-looking Witch Hunter shows up at your secluded hut. Make him see you for what you truly are in three stories or less. You oblige and give him the limit - a story of moss, of bone, and of a falling star.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

8. VIVAMUS, MORIENDUM EST || Undetermined || Not Started

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

SYNOPSIS: In every lifetime you made a promise to one another: even if you must die, you will find a way to live together for all of eternity, be that five or a hundred years from now. You'd not broken your promise yet.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

#masterlist #cod masterlist #cod fanfic #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #cod price #cod gaz #cod soap #cod mw22 #call of duty mw2 #x female reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #john price x you #gaz x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader

[moonlightfaust]

キングスフィールドⅢ King’s Field III (PS1, 1996)

#King's Field #キングスフィールド #King's Field III #キングスフィールドⅢ #Fromsoftware #Fromsoft #Dungeon Crawler #RPG #Playstation #PS1

[jellyghostspace]

-𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃-

#king's field #dark fantasy #fromsoftware #dark souls #I FUCING LOVE DUNGEIN CRAWLER #SKELETON

[assortedseaglass]

We Have This Hope - III

Osferth x Lady-in-Waiting

[Masterlist]

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

Notes: Barely proofed. Will do later. Hope you enjoy my loves. H x

Aefry and Osferth’s mutual fascination continued over the week and, much to Aefry’s delight, she was provided with plenty of chances to see him, for wherever Aethelflaed went, Uhtred seemed to follow. What’s more, wherever Aethelflaed and Uhtred went, so too did her ladies and his band of warriors. 

Following their fleeting meeting after mass, Aefry had glimpsed Osferth on her way back from the meadows just beyond the keep’s edge. She’d spent the day there with her book of psalms and her pages of drawings. Butterflies, plants, the skies above her and the ripple of the Itchen river. Wrapped in a shawl and sat beneath the old oak that guarded the grassland, Aefry was content to draw, read and daydream. Of her parents, of life beyond the keep, of warriors, of the boy with rough-shorn hair and worried eyes…

The day was drawing in when she made her way back to the warmth of the keep, the grey sky purpling as the sun descended below the trees. A brisk coolness settled on her cheeks, and she felt them turn red. These transitory days of autumn, like those of spring, brought a promise of something on the horizon that only the birds above them could see. In a life so still and, though she was grateful of her position, monotonous, Aefry found the quiet adventure in them thrilling. She thrilled too when, against the darkening sky, a white horse gleamed. Walking slowly, it’s head bobbing with each step, it looked like a spectre. Her cheeks burned all the hotter when she saw the man leading the horse to the stables. 

Head downcast like that of his steed, he too seemed aglow in the twilight. Pale skin smooth as clay, his breath taking flight against the cold air. With his shoulders slumped, Aefry saw not the shy yet brave warrior monk she had become so intrigued by those last days, but a boy. Somehow, despite his quiet courage, he seemed defeated. Not once had he looked up to see his progress towards the stable, glancing only at his feet as they shuffled across the hard earth. He was missing the gentle sunset, had not stopped to look in the direction of the blackbird singing in the hedgerow, not noticed how she stood at the edge of the field, watching. She had to know what troubled him. Spurred on by that desire, any decorum left Aefry as she hurried forward. 

At the rustle of leaves underfoot nearby, Osferth glanced up. Catching each other’s eyes, they both abruptly stood still. Osferth, hand at his sword, gawked at her. Aefry wobbled on the spot, having been caught rushing towards him. The white horse huffed and a great cloud of its breath rose into the sky. 

The look that lingered between them was a second longer than proper, and Aefry became once more a young lady of propriety. Smiling gently, she moved slowly towards Osferth. He glanced quickly at the white horse, patting its thick neck as if finding something to do. Not even Uhtred or the King stirred this much nervousness in him. 

“Forgive me, Sir-” 

“Osferth,” he corrected. Aefry was relieved to see a small smile curve his lips. 

“Osferth,” she whispered his name. To say it aloud, with no title, seemed indecent. “I am on my way back to my mistress, but when I saw you-” Aefry teetered on the precipice of this confession. Did it reveal too much? “Forgive me. I thought you looked sad.” 

Osferth looked straight at her then, and the hand that rubbed the horse’s neck fell to his side. “Not sad, my Lady, just defeated.” 

“Defeated?” She took a step closer to him, eager to know what caused the good man’s disappointment.

Osferth saw the worried crease of her brow and hurried to reassure her.

“Finan, he has been teaching me to spar. ‘Properly,’ he says.” It was as though the moon had risen early. All at once, Aefry saw the purple blooming under his eyes and the small grazes to his cheeks. When he held out his hands, dropping the reins of his horse to reveal the smattering of bruises across his knuckles, she gasped and took hold of them. 

How intoxicating it was, this woman’s worry for him. Excitement, rapidly followed by shame, overcame Osferth and with all the effort he could muster he took his hands back from her. How wanton, to crave more of it. 

“Wait, please,” Aefry said, turning in the direction she arrived from. Osferth watched her reach the edge of the meadow and crouch by a green mat of vegetation. In the low light, it was as if watching someone ascend from deep water. As she walked back to him, a handful of green clutched in her hand, she slowly came back into focus. Osferth shuffled from foot to foot and swallowed, looking quickly back to the horse. Blinking quickly, he saw the outline of her inside his eyelids. The ripple of her long hair, the sturdy footsteps towards him, her silhouette growing ever closer as her hips swayed side to side beneath the modest tunic she wore. He knew at once he would recount the image of her walking slowly towards him in the twilight. That night, in all likelihood. Osferth blushed and bowed his head. His boots were caked in mud, no doubt his tunic torn and much the same. He flattened the hair on his forehead and, shame yet again welling up inside him, hastily dropped his arm. 

“I acknowledge my sin to you, and hide not my inequity-”

“Pardon?” Aefry had begun tearing the leaves in her hand as she stopped before Osferth.

“I-er, she is-she is restless,” Osferth gestured to the horse.

Even with his head bowed, his body stooping to appear small, he towered over her. Aefry came eye level with his leather cuirass, and the cross the rested there. A good man indeed. Funny, Aefry thought, that she found the holy men of the keep so pious they bordered on arrogance, boring to the point of inertia, or else more sinful than those they preached to. Power, she supposed, was the currency of man, and there was plenty for those who had taken holy orders under the command of the King. In Osferth, however, the presence of the cross at his chest calmed her, for she had seen the truth that he was a good man. Ruled not by power, but by his kindness and conscience. A true man of God. He was still shuffling uncomfortably at her side.

“Well then,” Aefry said with a gentle smile. “We best get you both inside.” Her twinkling eyes met his and Osferth’s heart drummed unsteadily in his chest. She turned on her heel and made her way towards the stables. With the click of his teeth, Osferth and his steed followed eagerly in her wake.

The closer they drew to the dimly lit stable, the clearer the voices within it became. That is to say, one voice. The two men inside barely noticed as Aefry pushed open the door and slipped inside. Instead, it was the sound of horse hooves on the dampened ground that told the men they were no longer alone. 

“Hurt your bollocks as well as the rest of your body?” Finan said to Osferth, indicating the horse he hadn’t ridden and laughing heartily. Sihtric smirked but continued brushing the dark horse he rode. Beside them, Aefry appeared from a small stall with a bowl of water.

“Fuck!” Finan jumped back at the small woman’s seemingly sudden arrival. 

Blushing at the language, Aefry laughed. “Perhaps, Osferth, you should take sparring lessons from me. He may be the brute but I clearly have the cunning.” She playfully nudged Finan’s shoulder and found he didn’t budge. It made her giggle all the more and the three men stared at her. Sihtric in question, Osferth in amazement and Finan in mirthful admiration. Unaware, Aefry continued tearing the plant in her hand and adding it to the bowl.

“What have you there?” Sihtric’s voice was quiet. 

“Yarrow,” Aefry offered him one of the flowering stems. “It helps to soothe swelling.” She watched as Sihtric turned the flower between his fingers. Despite his height, his fearsome, bicolour gaze and endless stoicism, there was gentleness to this man she was certain many overlooked. To all of them. Whereas it was plain in Osferth, behind the tough exteriors of Sihtric and Finan lay good-hearted souls. Sihtric with his childlike wonder, Finan with his easy humour. Uhtred too possessed a tenderness, if the way he looked at Aethelflaed was anything to judge. 

Silence, but for the huffing and shuffling of the horses, settled about the stable. Aefry worked the yarrow and water into a paste, unaware of the silent exchange occurring above her head. 

Osferth, still shy around his adoptive comrades and overcome with an emotion entirely foreign to him in the presence of Aefry, looked everywhere in the stable but her. Occasionally, as he glanced between the ceiling’s beams or the hay-strewn floor, he caught either Finan or Sihtric’s eyes. Sihtric, in his usual way, fixed him with a knowing stare somewhere between teasing and curiosity. Each time Osferth caught Finan’s eye, however, he entered into a silent battle with the Gael. 

Finan indicated Aefry with his head, encouraging Osferth to step closer, or else would mouth instructions. “Talk to her!” “Say something!”. Once or twice, he even caught Finan making lewd gestures. When the Gael balled his fist before his crotch, Osferth’s eyes widened and he darted into one of the stalls. In doing so he brushed against Aefry’s shoulder, and the warmth he felt beneath her shawl sent a surge of lightning through him. 

Flustered by the commotion of his own sudden movement, Osferth almost lost track of where he was and what he was doing. He span around. “I’m sorry, my Lady-” Osferth’s voice died. Aefry was watching him with a smile. No annoyance at his carelessness, worry no longer knitting her brow. Simply smiling at him. 

Though bolder than he was, Osferth had noticed in his few meetings with the lady-in-waiting, of which this was the third, that, like him, Aefry was content with silence. He wished then that he had the courage for idle chatter. This lingering silence was torturous. The more she looked at him, and the more he looked at her, the more likely it seemed to him that heaven truly was real and not just a tool to frighten men into subjection.

“Let me see your hand again,” Behind Aefry, Finan walked past the stall and winked. Osferth didn’t move, and so Aefry came to him. Mistaking his infatuation for his earlier disappointment, she reached out and took his hand. Osferth almost whimpered. He bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself and released a ragged breath through his nose. 

“I’m sorry, but the yarrow will help.” 

Osferth let out a shaky laugh at her unknowing sweetness. “‘Tis fine.” When she began massaging the yarrow into his knuckles, Osferth held his breath, for never before could he remember being touched with such gentleness. 

He barely remembered his mother. Sometimes, he thought of her running her hand over his head, but was unsure if this was a memory or merely something his mind had conjured up in the absence of her. When he entered the monastery, it was with the clap of his uncle Leofric’s hand at his back and a promise that he would always be near. 

In their memory, Osferth touched the cross at his chest. Aefry’s eyes flickered there but she asked no questions, and began rolling a torn piece of cloth about his hand.

Behind the walls of the monastery, Osferth knew nothing but prayer and penance. 

The blond hair his mother had allowed to grow long was roughly shorn, his clothes were replaced with itchy hand-me-down robes, and despite having lived so meagrely before, he would have given anything to sleep on the hay mattress of his uncle Leofric’s rather than the wooden board and blanket of his shared quarters. 

That first room he shared with two other boys, Arric and Hablendan. He did not need to ask why they were sent to the monastery. The abbots looked at the three boys with an obvious disdain that they did not show the other novitiates. They were woken between matins and prime, then set to work preparing breakfast for the sleeping monastery. After a long day of work and prayer, Osferth and his companions would say compline, or vigil before Sunnundaeg, and await the abbot to permiss them sleep, long after everyone else had retired. 

Bastards. Shame of father and family. That was why. 

“A stain upon the good King’s virtue.” 

“Nothing but a whore’s shame.”

“It would have been far better if you had never been born.”

When Hablendan succumbed to a fever aged eleven, the penitential psalms were hurried, his anointing near forgot, and the abbots slung him in a haphazard grave beyond the monastery wall. Only Osferth and Aerric kept vigil.

Arric left the monastery suddenly, and from time to time Osferth imagined he had run away with a tradesman or visiting abbess. That way he could believe a life beyond that harsh place existed. A monastery in a warmer climate perhaps, or a new life altogether. 

“Osferth?” 

So tender was her voice that Osferth thought he’d imagined it. The voice of Hablendan or Arric. Perhaps even his uncle or mother. 

He blinked in the dim light, and felt a warmth about his hands. She had taken both in her own, and held them gently before her. Her eyes, a muddy mixture of browns, were looking up at him with concern. 

“‘Tis fine,” he said again, although the lump in his throat betrayed any attempt at ease. Aefry nodded, held his hand a moment longer, then let go. Osferth twitched awkwardly before coughing and clearing the stall to make way for his horse. That he had been about to take her hand once more, Aefry did not know.  

“Will your mistress not worry where you are?” Sihtric was heaving his horse’s saddle onto one of the stable beams.

“If Lord Uhtred is with her, I doubt it entirely,” Aefry said with a smile. “Her mother, however-” The men laughed. “I am away. Remove the dressing in the morning and the swelling should have gone down,” she addressed Osferth. “If not, seek me out and I will gather more.” 

“He surely will,” Finan stepped forward with yet another gleeful glance in Osferth’s direction as he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

Osferth’s heart sank. He had not known Finan long, but it was enough to see the long looks women gave him. Wit, kindness, honour, strength. How could he possibly compete? Aefry and Finan were backing out of the door when Sihtric nudged Osferth’s shoulder and nodded in their direction. Aefry was looking hopefully at him over Finan’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Osferth, goodnight Sir,” Sihtric nodded his head at Aefry. Osferth bowed a little. 

“Come,” Sihtric said to him. “You have more to learn than swordsmanship.” And together they trudged towards the inn on the outskirts of town, Osferth hanging off his every word. 

In the opposite direction, Finan and Aefry walked in comfortable silence. The sun had set fully and torches flickered at the welcoming gates of the keep. In a few moments, they would be sheltered in its warmth. Aefry’s stomach gave a rumble and she laughed. 

“Thank you, Sir, for walking me back,” Finan smiled and Aefry continued. “Though, and I do not mean to offend, I suspect it was not for my safety.” Expecting to see annoyance in her eyes, Finan looked at her. To his pleasant surprise, he saw her eyes twinkle in the low light. A broad smile stretched across his bonny face. “I do believe Saeflaed will have returned from her father’s by now.”

“I would not have let you walk back alone, lady-”

“Aefry.” She corrected, holding a hand to her chest. He copied the movement.

“Finan.” Aefry nodded and Finan continued. “But a glimpse of her would not go amiss.” 

Aefry’s smile widened. Finan had thought her a meek little thing at first, smaller than her companions, not so pretty as Saeflaed or outspoken as Adburh. But he saw now that he was wrong. Behind the round cheeks and rosy complexion, pleasing manner and quiet reserve, a brightness burned within her. Quick to help and to laugh just as he. The youngest of Aethelflaed’s ladies, he thought perhaps, despite Saeflaed’s beauty, that Aefry was his favourite.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Aefry said, her voice full of that longing awe one heard in a girl recalling a princess, or a little boy dreaming of the battlefield.

“I’ve never seen a fairer lass,” 

“And here she is,” she indicated the keep gates, where a golden haired girl stood waiting. Aefry turned to Finan, a knowing glint in her eye. “Almost as if this meeting were planned.” 

“Not a word to your mistress of Uhtred,” Finan held her arm gently. 

Aefry held a finger to her lips as she slipped away, and Finan watched as she clasped Saeflaed’s hand before disappearing through the gate. 

Over the next few days, the three men and three women followed their leaders like a gaggle of children. 

Having told Aefry how much she liked the man, Saeflaed either clung to her arm or Finan’s, whispering hurried observations in the former’s ear, flirtations in the latter’s.

“His wit is as sharp as his sword!”

“There’s something about his eyes,”

“I watched him train the monk,” Aefry’s ears pricked. “His arms, Aefry!” 

Poor Adburh was quite taken as ever by the silent Sihtric, but the discovery of his wife had left her quite bereft. 

“Many a man takes a mistress, Adburh,” Saeflaed had said.

“I’ll not be a man’s whore,” Adburh snapped from beneath her bedsheets.

“Not even a man so beautiful?”

Adburh sniffled and Aefry silenced her friend with a quick glance. 

When next they saw Uhtred and his men, all walking the halls and corridors of the keep as he spoke to Aethelflaed in hushed tones, Aefry was forced to abandon her position by the monk to remind Adburh that she was at court. At once, the red-headed girl’s shoulders straightened, the crease of her forehead vanished and her steps became lighter. 

“He is a handsome man, ‘tis true,” Aefry whispered to Adburh. “But not the man for you, my friend.” Adburh’s face soured at once and she made to protest. Aefry didn’t allow it. “Aside from his marital status, he is far too quiet and serious. Imagine the household you would run together! You, fearsome and outspoken. He, fearsome and silent. That poor man would not stand a chance.” Adburh laughed sadly and linked her arm through Aefry’s. Together, they processed behind the others.

Uhtred and Aethelflaed were a way ahead now. Uhtred too, seemed equally bewitched by Aethelflaed as Adburh was with Sihtric, and Aefry was glad to see a man bestow her mistress some compassion. The image of a gentleman in her presence, Uhtred listened to Aethelflaed’s words as though she were bestowing upon him a prophecy. He walked half a step behind her at all times, and always, his gaze was directed toward her. 

Finan and Saeflaed, still holding his arm, were a few paces behind them with Sihtric. Aefry giggled as Saeflaed’s golden curls bounced animatedly as she spoke to him, and Finan looked over his shoulder at the noise and winked. 

Osferth saw him do so and glanced to where Aefry and Adburh walked. The moment he looked at her, Aefry’s steps faltered. 

“Are you alright?” It was Adburh who sounded concerned now. 

“Yes. Yes, fine,” Aefry resumed her steps and looked to Osferth. He had turned back to face the front. Let him look round again, please. The strange sensation that had made its home in Aefry’s chest ever since she met the monk stirred, and she gulped a few times to steady her breath. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Adburh,” Aefry lay a hand atop her friends. “Believe me when I say, I am fine.” Adburh eyed her suspiciously but they continued ahead. 

Osferth walked alone between the groups, hands clasped behind his back. As people passed them in the corridors, going about their business, Aefry found a new appreciation for his height. She had seen few men so tall. He was taller than Finan, that was certain. Now, she saw he was taller than Uhtred and much the same height as Sihtric. She thought of the three warriors and their broad backs, and her mind wandered to what lay beneath Osferth’s robes. Whether he would become as muscled as them as he continued his training- 

I’m sorry. Let him look at me, and I’ll spend Sunnandaeg in the chapel. 

Aefry did not know precisely what it was that she longed to see, but when Osferth turned to look at her again, his mellow eyes brightening when he saw her already watching him, she felt a small part of her desire to be seen by him sated. 

“Aefry, your cheeks are flushed. Are you certain-”

“Adburh!” Aefry dropped her friend’s arm in annoyance and took a few rushed steps forward before realising where she was; a step or so behind Osferth. When Adburh stomped past them, her temper flaring, Osferth startled and gazed back. Upon seeing Aefry so close, he startled again but smiled all the same.

“Her fires are burning rather hot today,” Aefry mumbled, giving Osferth a small curtsy. 

“Is everything well?” said Osferth as he watched Adburh storm ahead.

“She had some bad news,” Aefry wouldn’t betray Adburh’s feelings, no matter her annoyance.

Osferth hummed and waited for Aefry to fall into step beside him. Unlike that which she had shared with Finan, Aefry could not say their silence was comfortable. On the contrary, both seemed strained to think of something to say and altogether uneasy. 

“The yarrow worked-”

“How is your practice-”

Both spoke together, blushed and allowed the quiet to resume. After a moment, Aefry took Osferth’s hand. Perhaps it was an excuse just to touch him, but she brought his knuckles to the light of a passing window and examined his bruises. The yarrow had worked indeed, for she could make out the bone and blue veins of his hands. His hands. How small hers suddenly felt underneath his. When she looked up at him, she saw he was still staring down at their entwined hands. 

“Do you need anything more of me?” she whispered.

Osferth’s eyes flickered to hers. “Lady, I-”

“Come on, Osferth!” 

Finan’s voice boomed down the corridor and Aefry stepped quickly away from Osferth. Onward they walked. 

“That is much like how he speaks to me when teaching,” Osferth said lowly and Aefry laughed. “But he is kind do it, and a good man.”

“That he is.” 

Osferth watched her from the corner of his eye. She smiled as she looked in Finan’s direction and he tried to quell his jealousy. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he whispered. 

Ahead, Uhtred and Aethelflaed had stopped outside a large cabinet of rooms at the fore of the keep, and Aefry, distracted on their journey there, noticed at once that it was the study of the King. She quickened her steps, leaving Osferth’s side, to stand behind her mistress. It would not do for Lady Aelswith to see her at the side of one of Uhtred’s men and not her daughter. 

No sooner had she, Saeflaed and Adburh settled behind Aethelflaed did the door to the cabinet open. Father Beocca stepped out and grasped Uhtred’s hand. A moment after, the King entered the corridor and all in his presence bowed their heads. Aethelflaed kissed his cheek. 

“You are ready?” He said to his daughter and Uhtred, to which they nodded and entered his private chambers with Beocca. As Aefry bowed once more, she noticed the King’s intelligent eyes carry over Finan and Sihtric, before flicking to the man stood still in the corridor.

Subtly, so imperceptibly, Aefry saw Alfred falter. From her reverent position, she looked sideways through the veil of her hair.

Osferth was looking pointedly at the ground, his shoulders a little stooped, his head a little bowed.

When the King turned away, Osferth looked up and saw that Aefry was watching him again. With a sad smile and nod of his head, he retraced his steps, away from his fellows, and out of sight. A haunting sadness had returned to his eyes, and Aefry thought of little else all evening.

Early one morning under the guise of prayer, Aethelflaed brought her ladies-in-waiting to the town chapel so she may share some secret with Uhtred before he and his men left for the north.

Finan and Sihtric were stood at the door, happily talking when they arrived. They bowed to Aethelflaed as she passed, sharing a knowing look, and greeted the ladies. Saeflaed placed herself by Finan and leant gaily against the stone wall so that her hip jutted just so. Adburh, too, stood scandalously close to Sihtric. He said nothing. Aefry did not worry about Osferth’s own whereabouts, for she knew he would be inside.

Sure enough, when she pushed open the chapel’s great doors, daylight streaked into the chamber and set him aglow. Sat on a simple wooden bench at the back of the chapel, his head was bent in prayer. Like a moth to a flame, she drifted towards him, sitting carefully beside him as he prayed.

The creaking of the wood gave her away, and Osferth opened one eye. When he saw her sat beside him, he smiled and relaxed in his seat. Together, the monk and the young lady sat in contended silence at the back of the chapel. After a while he looked at her fully and saw the happiness on her face.

“What has you smiling, my Lady?” Osferth whispered in her ear as they sat side by side. Aefry looked up at him. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head bowed slightly to hear her answer. Wherever he went, he always looked in prayer, and she wondered if it was the same on the battlefield. If he fought with as much grace as he did everything else.

“Those two,” she indicated Uhtred and Aethelflaed with her eyes. “It is good to see her smile again.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her face glow with tenderness. It seemed her permanent state. On occasion, he had seen her about the keep with Aethelflaed and her other companions. Where Adburh and Saeflaed seemed suited to keeping the princess jovial, the lady beside him must have been picked as a companion for her quiet sincerity. When Aethelflaed fell into clouds of despair, it was Aefry she went to to lift her spirits.

When Osferth stumbled upon Aefry in the town, or sat in the meadow beyond the keep, she moved with serenity, like river buttercup in a stream. It struck him that she was prayer incarnate; contemplative, curious, calm.

When tending to the horses, he watched her in the meadow. She gathered flowers, read beneath the oak tree, or when not alone, talked spiritedly with her companions. Just as fascinated as she was with the monk, he too was with the lady-in-waiting.

“Though she doesn’t show it, not to Lord Uhtred, she is sad.” The monk titled his head towards her as she spoke. “You are away tomorrow, are you not?”

He nodded, eyes scanning hers. Would she be sad when he left? As Aethelflaed was for Uhtred?

“Take care, Just Osferth,” she smiled. His mouth twitched at the corners, and she knew he wanted to smile. “What?”

“My lady, do you think perhaps you could simply call me Osferth? The others have given me their own name, I should like to hear mine just plainly.”

The lady’s eyes lit with mirth. “What do the others call you?”

He sighed and looked at the cross atop the alter, as if pleading for help. “‘Baby monk.’” He whispered it in her ear like he was at confession, and she would have shuddered were it not for the ridiculousness of the name. She sniggered and the monk pinched his nose.

“Are you a monk anymore?” She had turned to him slightly, though she still glanced at her mistress every now and again. “Now that you are in Uhtred’s company?”

He thought a moment and watched his hands. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

She took his hand in hers and faced him directly.

“You are Osferth.”

“That I am.” There it was again. Pride. Looking at her pretty face, open with kindness and judging of nothing as she watched him, Osferth felt that whatever he had been, or would be, was fine because she saw him. She.

“What do you think life would have held for you? Had you the choice?” Aefry knew the question was intimate, and should he rebuke her, she would understand. To her happiness, he did not.

“I do not think it matters, lady.” Visions of himself as a prince, or an ealdorman with wife and child flashed before his eyes. “My lot was chosen long before I was born.” Aefry knew he was thinking of his father’s actions but said nothing, only let him continue. “With another mother, another father, in a different realm perhaps my life would have been different, but it does not do to dwell. I am thankful for what I have been given.”

He watched her side, for she had turned to face Uhtred and Aethelflaed solemnly. Her lips parted delicately, plainly thinking over what he had said. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from the braid knotted at her nape, revealing the pulse point on the elegant column of her neck. Osferth was struck with the desire to run his finger along it and the britches beneath his tunic tightened. He shifted on the hard pew. Damn. Faintly, as though listening through water, he heard her say something similar to “we should leave them be.” He looked up to see Uhtred and Aethelflaed departing through the door behind the chancel.

“Will you pray with me?”

Her hand was still in his and she squeezed it before clasping her own in prayer. “Of course.”

Aefry knelt before him and he swallowed, shifting his hands beneath his tunic before kneeling beside her. Osferth wasn’t sure how long they prayed. Or rather, how long she prayed and he tried to. Her devoted mutterings and deeps sighs of breath were beautifully distracting, so he settled on watching her pray instead.

She leant her head on her hands, as though this would open a direct channel to help her commune with the divine. She glanced up on occasion, to gaze at the altar, before casting her eyes down. When she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek between devotions, he found he could take it no more and moved towards the offertory shrine next to the tabernacle. He hadn’t seen someone so moved by prayer since the monastery, and even then he believed the abbot did it to scare the oblates into servitude.

He took a candle and, placing it next to its fellows, lit it with a taper. Closing his eyes with the flame in hand, a moment’s solace finally found him, and he prayed for that which he always could. When he opened them, she was there beside him, placing her own candle upon the shrine having silently finished her prayers. As if in slow motion, he watched as she covered his hand with hers and moved the taper he still held to the wick. The candle flickered into life, and she let go.

“Who did you light your candle for?” she whispered, watching the flames dance together.

“My mother.”

“I lit mine for you. I want to see you safely back in Wintancaester.” Sadness befell Aefry’s eyes and Osferth said the only thing he could think that would ease her unhappiness.

“I shall try, my lady.”

She nodded. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

His lips parted with barely supressed awe. “Psalm ninety-one.”

Aefry nodded again. “The psalms are my favourites.”

“My lips praise you, because your faithful love is better than life itself.” Osferth whispered, his eyes intent on hers.

“Psalm sixty-three.”

“Yes,” Each time he was near her, his voice floundered. It seemed it was not just he who struggled. The light of the chapel cast Osferth in a soft glow and his eyes, pierced by the sun, looked aflame. Aefry watched as his tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip and, mindful of their place in God’s house, pressed the back of her hand to his so as to feel close to him.

“I must away, my lady.” His words were abrupt, their sudden intimacy overwhelming.

“Yes, you must,”

Osferth swallowed, and with some urgency said, “But I will see you soon.” Her beautiful face became doleful as she looked at the bidding candles and he stepped closer to her. Her eyes, brimming with tears, took in his face and as he made to brush them away, she stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss against his cheek.

Frozen before the shrine, Osferth listened as her steps carried her from the chapel, away from Adburh and Saeflaed, from Finan and Sihtric, and from him.

In the meadow beyond the town, beneath the oak tree, Aefry let her tears fall.

“The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night,” she said aloud to the grasses and the birds. Please, she begged, please let him come back.

Notes: Matins, prime, compline and vigil are part of the liturgical hours in the catholic faith, and are prayers that are said throughout the day. Typically for a monk, there would be matines, prime, lauds, none, sext, vespers and compline. Vigil came before holy days and some even took nocturnes which is around 1am. I used to live with a monk (true!) and sometimes I would do lauds with him. Fifteen minutes of quiet is a lovely way to start the day!

Tags: @arcielee @babyblue711 @elizarbell @chilling-in-my-head @skikikikiikhhjuuh @fan-goddess @sylas-the-grim @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @doomwhathouwilt @gemini-mama @myfandomprompts @bcon24 @humanpurposes @wise-owl @bookwyrmsblog @yentroucnagol @allthefandomtherapy @hightowhxre @elizarbell

#ewan mitchell #osferth #osferth x oc #osferth x reader #the last kingdom #tlk #aethelflaed #uhtred #finan #sihtric #alfred the great #we have this hope #ewan mitchell x reader

[mummer]

the take that “actually the blacks won the dance of the dragons because their bloodline got the throne hehe” has always been very funny to me because the entire point of aegon iii is to ask: who cares? what did it matter? what was it all for? misery and tragedy, pointless mass death, everyone alone and betrayed and caged, a king like his land and his people: ravaged, broken, a shell. and nothing was fixed. and nothing was solved. no revolution made, no justice served, just fields of dead and charred bones and a sad sad little boy. the point— if that’s what winning is, why play?

#hotd has the chance to deliver on the pointlessness so hard. i love you tragedy. #like all the show has to do. at all. is successfully build up to a crucial moment where you realize every single character is asking #why did we do this? what was the point? what would have been enough? #but theyve all gone too far now. and theres no way out #hotd #asoiaf #youre reading the anti war books and cheering on the war 💔 #thinking about aegon iii wanting nothing and wandering around the palace looking at the stars. rn

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Question for Jon stans: so I think a lot of us expect Jon to leave the watch at some point in his story, whether in Winds or sometime in Dream. I tend to think he’s going to straight up desert the Watch, like going ‘fuck it I’m done here’ much like Bloodraven and Mance, instead of leaving on a technicality (i.e., a ‘he’s dead so he’s technically done his service’ type of thing). 

BUT the question is, does he go north or does he go south? I think it’s reasonable to assume either direction works narratively.

We have this:

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

Plus he’s been set up to parallel Bloodraven and Mance both of whom go north, and there’s this quote from AGOT that could be foreshadowing:

Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised, “Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.

“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

(Tyrion III)

There’s also symbolism in him embracing the name “Snow” and living in the snowy north….

But then we these quotes from AGOT as well that’s essentially about him finding the Wall to be stifling and equating freedom with the south:

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

(Jon III)

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

(Jon V)

And if Jon is to live his best wildling/crow-deserter life, it’ll be about finding freedom - just like Mance.

Plus there’s the whole thing with him seeing three different trees which could serve as representing his arc in the series, and the final tree faces south… 

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

(Jon V, ADWD) 

So which one is it?

Also if you think he goes south, where does he end up? 👀 

#I’ve always been a jon deserts and goes north truther - but that’s also because I’m a jon will be king of winter truther #not in a ruling sense but more of a mythical combination of wildling king (mance) and god (bloodraven) #but I just saw a really interesting meta about how going south is more thematically resonant soooo 👀 #yes this is assuming jon lives at the end which I think he absolutely does #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow