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assortedseaglass · 7 months

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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

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lllostgirlll · 11 months

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@justasightseer I FINISHED IT FINALLY! So this didn’t go how i wanted it to, it was going to be a bit more oc-ish, but i do like the direction i took it. Yet another one based off of a dream i had.

TLK: King Alfred x Modern!Reader

“I’m telling you i don’t know! All I remember is waking up in a field when these LARPers grabbed me and hauled me here!” I raised my voice, exhausted physically and mentally.

I was telling the truth, i don’t know what elaborate Ren-Faire i had stumbled upon, but they were taking it waaaayyy too seriously.

I was getting tired of it.

The “King” raised an eyebrow, his face remained neutral. His wife, I assumed, glared at me. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would be dead.

“Steapa, find a room here for our guest. Keep a close eye on her, she is not to leave until I allow it.” King Alfred ordered, eyes never leaving my face. I tried to keep from blushing, he was quite handsome. “Lord King-“ his wife began. He put up a hand silencing her. ‘Wow. Rude.’ I thought.

Steapa grabbed me by my bicep and started dragging me out of the hall. I started shaking as we went through the doors. I was so tired. I was so scared. “P-please, where are we going?” I asked. I tried to put on a brave face but my eyes were watering. He looked down at me, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “King Alfred ordered me to take you to your room. That is where we are going.”

That happened at least a month ago.

I wasn’t sure how much i believed this elaborate Ren-Faire, i’ve heard of a couple lasting at least a month. But they never broke character. Ever.

During that time, King Alfred himself would come to my room to personally question me. He was incredibly intimidating. And smart. And handsome. The guards stationed at my door handmaidens passing by would whisper about how odd it was that King Alfred himself would question me.

One day, He entered at his usual time, around lunchtime. But there were no guards with him…Weird. He began to just… talk to me. Not interrogate, talk. He asked me about my strange clothes (ha) and if all women wore them where I was from. We talked for a while. He left for dinner and I was brought a plate shortly after. After that, that’s what happened on a regular schedule, he would come in and we would just… talk.

One day, after we had grown closer, he asked, “Do you read by any chance?” My eyes lit up a little. “Dude, I love reading!” He smiled very briefly, still not used to my language. He suddenly stood up. “Follow me.” He ordered. I followed him, excited because he barely let me out of that stupid room, nervous because I didn’t know where he was taking me (and i would never get used to the guards that followed us). We arrived at a large double door.

He opened it and I couldn’t help but let out a small gasp.

In the room there were scrolls. Everywhere. And a few tomes. I stood there and took it all in.

The King watched my reaction, what I didn’t notice was the soft smile on his face. “You read where you are from?” He asked again, curiously. “Only those of noble blood, most often men, are permitted to pursue education.” He stated. I was a little surprised. I told him about where I’m from and that almost everyone has access to higher education. Almost.

We sat down at a table and talked for hours. Eventually he set a scroll down in front of me. “Read.” He demanded nonchalantly. I unrolled the scroll and paused. There was no way i could read this.

I recognized some of the letters, but it looked like someone had a stroke while writing it.

“I-Uh…” I started. He raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” “N-No… Well yes…” I stammered, trying to make some sense of the writing in front of me. “It’s just so different. This looks like nothing I’ve seen were I’m from…”

He moved to stand behind me and he peered over my shoulder. I was only slightly flustered at our close proximity, but i brushed it off, too focused on the words on the scroll.

He hummed in acknowledgment. “That won’t do. Tomorrow you will be tutored by our royal scholar.” He said offhandedly. “H-Huh?!” I looked up at him in shock. “Is there a problem?” His voice, cool as ever, responded. I gathered myself and shook my head. We eventually got to talking but only for a little while, before a guard entered. “My Lord, Uhtred is here.” The guard said, bowing. I looked at The King and I picked up on his very, very brief look of mild annoyance. He orders me back to my room and that was that.

Over the course of a few months, I attended lessons every day. Sometimes The King would enter and shrug the scholar off, telling him to act like he wasn’t there. That he just wanted to see my progress. He wanted to see my progress. He was a distracting presence. And that jerk knew it.

Other than my studies, over the course of these months, I had been allowed more access to the palace. I would sit in the gardens, occasionally seeing The King. I caught him staring at me a few times. And one thing that happened during these months, is that I was developing feelings for him.

It was so wrong. He has a wife, and I would hear some of the servants whisper about his escapades with some of the servant girls. I brushed them off, not wanting to dwell on it.

Until one day.

I was in the scroll room, I was always there brushing up on my studies. I noticed what looked like a little trinket sitting in one of the windowsills so I moved to get a closer look. I heard the door open behind me but I paid it no mind. Believing it to be one of the priests or scholars.

As I was looking at this strange trinket, I felt a presence behind me. Oh so closely behind me.

“How are your studies?” The King’s voice asked softly behind me.

I couldn’t answer, I noticed if i had moved even one centimeter back, I would be touching his chest. I was too flustered to speak, I could feel my face heating up. “You could stay with me… if you would like.” He whispered, I could just barely feel his lips on the shell of my ear. I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I licked my lips, about to turn around and respond.

A priest burst into the room, hurriedly explaining something about someplace named “Beamfleot.”

I felt The King sigh before collecting himself.

I turned and watched him leave the room, but not before pausing at the doorway and giving me a brief, hungry look.

(Sooooo how did my 2nd ever fanfic go 🙈 @solinarimoon @morosemagick @errruvande @kingslionheart @malewifebillcage ???)

Edit: missed a few words. fixed i think.

#eeeee i’m actually excited about this one!#tlk fandom #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fandom #tlk #king alfred x reader #king alfred #alfred the great #alfred tlk #tlk alfred #my writing

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sapphic-woes · 2 years

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Sevika x Fem!Reader x Vi - The Knight, the Witch, and the Dane pt. 1

A/N: Don't ask me why;; I can't tell you. Here you are a saxon turned dane and a seer, working for your lord Vi...but you have a past :) (this is based off of season 3 of tlk)

Word Count: 2.5k. AO3 link

_________________

“You're perfect, Sev.” You whispered, planting a seed of hope in her. “No matter what your parents say.”

In your own father’s meadow, the both of you lay, staring up at the clear blue sky. Sevika turned to look at you, and she thought to herself that the sun couldn't compare to your smile.

“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. To me…” Those turned up lips and pearly whites scorched her heart, branding your initials over the organ. It pained her something sweet, and as she listened to the bells of your laughter, the servant girl thought to herself that her heart would always burn for you.

“You are, and always will be, my greatest frie–”

Sevika snapped her eyes open, and she wished she could close them and see you again. How long will I hold on? Too many years had passed since she’d lost you. In the blazing heat of the fire, and the destruction of your hometown…

“Sevika! Stop sleeping in and come out–those heathen Danes aren’t going to kill themselves!” Sevika squinted to the sound of Vander's boisterous voice, much too energetic this early in the morning. Regardless, she rose, doing her daily routine before slipping into her armor and walking out the door. Immediately, she was met with an arm around her bicep, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Ran's cocky grin.

“Damn Vika, you look like shit. Couldn’t sleep?” Sevika shrugged, somewhat bent over as she let Ran stir her towards breakfast. As they walked through the various halls of Wessex's palace towards the knight's dining hall, the groggy woman sighed.

“Something like that.” These dreams only served to sap her energy, waking up either panicked, soaked in sweat, or longing for a girl she knew was dead. I don’t even remember her name. Sevika only remembered you as the daughter of the ealdorman. The ealdorman that, when the Danes arrived, was forced to watch his home be burned to the ground before being killed himself.

At the time Sevika had been a servant girl, despised by her parents simply for being born. Later, she would come to understand why her parents fought so much. Me? A noble’s bastard? …How unoriginal. However, as a child Sevika had thought there was something wrong with herself to make her parents hate her, and you had shown her otherwise.

You had been kind to her, and she had come to know what real care was because of your generosity. Yet when she needed me…Sevika grit her teeth as she pushed around the porridge on her plate, I did nothing but cower and run.

When the Danes came, she’d left you behind. She could have helped you, done anything to protect you, and yet…

You tripped over a fiery piece of wood, falling to the floor as the house burned around you both. Sevika turned around, ready to grab your hand when a yell bellowed from behind. The Danes getting the last treasures of the house spotted you both, and having seen how nicely you dressed, immediately recognized who you were. You gasped, turning back to Sevika with a hand stretched out, begging her to help. You couldn’t raise yourself back up with your burnt leg. But if she could just–

To your horror, Sevika recoiled, not even looking at you. Her eyes were trained on the Danes not far behind, glancing at the door just ahead. She looked back at you one last time, eyes full of tears as she ignored your desperation.

“I’m sorry lady…I’m sorry…” With that, Sevika turned away, running out the door and leaving you behind for the Danes to capture.

That moment haunted her each passing day, driving her to train and become a knight. Every time you flashed in her mind, she vowed to kill ten more Danes. To save ten more people. Every time you whispered her name in her dreams, the number doubled.

Yet despite her efforts, that wasn’t enough. Sevika still slept only to see the fire. To see your father and her parents dead. To see you, with eyes pleading with her to save you as you were dragged away, neck yanked back to make room for a bloody ax–

“Sevika? You’re not eating. Are you alright?” The knight looked up to meet Ran's curious, concerned gaze. They had met Sevika long ago, and for some reason decided to stick with her despite her grim attitude. Ran was the closest person to a friend Sevika had now, and they reminded her that she wasn’t a child anymore, let alone experiencing that day again.

Instead, she was a knight of Wessex, a formidable one at that…and currently preparing for another inevitable attempt from the Danes to attack, come spring. Sevika sighed, shoveling down a spoonful of porridge with a grunt.

“Me? I'm fine. Just…fine.”

____________

You knew what you wanted. You couldn’t ask for it though. The sinister voices in the back of your mind were too loud these days.

Hands caressed your body as if you were made of glass, and to her, you supposed you were. Your lord had a body riddled with tattoos and battle scars, expansive muscles moving hypnotically as she pressed against you. She treated you like something precious, and you both craved and despised her delicate touch.

You feared she would find something wrong. Something undeniably you...and when Vi inevitably did, what would she do?

Will she abandon you, just as that girl did before?

“My love…you’ve grown silent. Talk to me, what do you need?” Vi murmured, kissing your bare shoulder. You avoided her gaze, trying to brush your emotions away.

“It’s nothing. I was simply thinking of…well it’s getting warmer, spring is approaching and I should prepare to see. To know if we should attack–”

“No,” Vi’s voice was a barely audible whisper, yet it felt like a command nonetheless. “You’re hurting again, I can feel it…” Vi reached down to gingerly hold your hand, kissing the back of it.

“So tell me what I can do to make you forget. Let me help you.” It’s a trap. Don’t do it. It’s a trap. Don’t do it, it’s a–

“…Vi,” you nervously licked your lips, and she patiently waited, “...tell me you love me…” Your voice was uncertain and faint, and Vi instantly broke into a wide smile, kissing the corner of your eyes.

“I do.”

“You won’t–you c-can’t leave me…” Vi chuckled at your fretfulness, finding this needy side of you endearing. Usually, you were fearsome, but with her, she had managed to peel back enough layers and catch a glimpse of the truth. She kissed your shuddering neck as she nodded.

“You have my heart, my love. I can never imagine being without you.” Her voice was an anchor for your tired soul, and you crumbled into her warmth. Vi let you, continuing to breathe out praises against your skin.

“You’re too beautiful. Too stunning. I ought to tie you up here and never let another person see you again. But then I wouldn’t be able to brag, or show off how perfect you are to me…”

She knew that would make you melt, humming as you squirmed. You loved her praising words, but you were never good at taking compliments, rouge from your bare shoulders up to the tip of your ears. Vi smirked at you as if you were adorable, leaning down to trace her teeth over the peak of your breasts. Her hand snaked down to part your folds, coaxing out sweet sounds from you.

“You’ve turned into such a pretty mess, and you’re practically glowing. Do you love my words that much…or the idea of me tying you up?” Her teasing only warmed your skin more, and she laughed at your frustrated glare. Vi planted a kiss across your trembling stomach, murmuring into the skin.

“You’re everything to me.” The conviction in her voice made you shiver, moaning as she moved to kiss every inch of your waist, fingers slowly thrusting into your heat. “My love. My life. I wouldn't trade you for anyone else in the world.” Vi removed her soaked digits, fixing the backs of your knees over her shoulders. You looked down to see fierce, electric blue eyes as Vi bent down to pleasure you further.

“I will never abandon you, and if need be? I would travel across the world just to find you.” You gasped, shuddering as Vi drove her tongue into your heat, rough and relentless as she tasted you. The weight of her devotion was like no other Dane you had ever known–like no other person you had ever known.

“You’re mine,” she rasped into your dewy folds, eyebrows knit in concentration, “and I am your–wai–love?” At her words, tears filled up in your eyes. Comically, Vi’s own eyes bulged out, faltering at the sight of those salty droplets. She recoiled immediately, gaze unreadable for a moment.

Wait, no don’t, I’m sorry–

Your panic was quelled in less than a second, surprised when calloused hands swiftly gathered your face in their grasp. Vi’s eyes searched your own, clearly worried beyond belief.

“My love, did I hurt you? I–fuck–I didn’t–” You let out a breathless laugh, feeling ridiculous for panicking. Emboldened, you pressed your lips hard against her own, pulling her into a deep, heated kiss. Vi’s tense muscles relaxed, and you hummed in approval, pulling away to smile at your lord’s flushed cheeks.

“Never. I am just…happy. You love me, despite me being, well, me. I’m in awe–

“There you go again.” You squeaked as Vi suddenly flipped you over, frustrated. “Belittling yourself. Acting as if you don’t deserve a thing. I won’t allow it, and if you insist on continuing?”

The sound of her drawer opening made your heart skip a beat, glancing over your shoulder to see Vi pull out her strap. Oh shit.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you can’t speak again…right?”

____________

Some days later, when you were finally able to walk again, you looked into your lord’s future.

You saw Vi, triumphant. She raised his blade with a cry, and the horse before her fell–along with the Saxon king. The weak man scrambled back, he cried out for mercy–but your lord would grant him no such thing. Instead she raised her sword with a furious grin, bringing it down with one final swing…

…and the blood of the Saxon king ran red, pooling at her feet.

“Guards!” You yelled as you trudged through the murky bog water around you. One of the guards waiting began to look back towards you, and your voice broke into another commanding roar, “turn away, now.” Hastily he did, but you knew it was already too late.

“No man is to show me his face.” You reminded them both with a heavy scowl, stalking towards the one that had fearfully turned away. “No man is to see me before my lord.”

You unsheathed your daggers, moving to cut the back of his knee. The tender flesh broke under your force, and he buckled, crying out in pain. You didn’t mind the sniveling man any longer, turning to face the other guard from behind.

“You will go ahead and remind the camp that my lord must be the first to see me.” The guard frantically nodded, voice trembling.

“Y-yes lady.” You lurked, silently walking around him from behind. His friend cried out in pain, seething in the mud. The guard before you knew better than to acknowledge him there.

“Once she has my message, they’ll be free to gaze.” He nodded once, and then he was gone, quickly speeding away to warn the camp. You shifted your eyes back onto the writhing man on the ground, raising an eyebrow as he desperately spoke.

“M-my lady, I swear, I did not look at you!” You ignored his pleas, kind enough to inform him of his fate.

“...I must take your eyes.” At that he flinched, more energetic than before.

“L-lady no–be merciful!” You scoffed, pacing as you looked down at him in annoyance.

“And your tongue.” His eyebrows narrowed at that, and in a last ditch effort he reached for his sword. Perfect.

“You bitch! I-I’ll kill you–argh!” You threw one of your daggers, letting the weapon sink into his wrist. He cried out, but you didn’t give him time for his final breath on this earth to last, clambering on top of his body before bringing the blunt end of your remaining dagger down onto his eyes.

Again and again you bashed the weapon into them, feeding off his cries of pain. Feverishly, you grinned as his warm blood splattered across your face. You bit your bottom lip as you flipped the blade in your hand once that was done, driving it up under his chin. Finally, the grating noise of his annoying yells cut off, and you breathed out in satisfaction. Unceremoniously, you yanked your dagger out of his head and rose, leaving the body there to head to your lord.

“Turn away!” You harshly spoke, striding into the camp. “Only the women may look at me until I have told my lord what I have seen.” As you walked, the men obeyed, turning away from you with haste. They knew doing otherwise would result in death, and although you were never one to turn away from it, you couldn’t kill every man in your lord's camp.

You marched forward, determined. Where is she? You were itching to see her, to tell her of her glory, to tell her of her destiny. Taking a turn, you abruptly stopped, surprised until you softly smiled.

Your lord was already on her knees, waiting for you. Vi was so frozen one would think she was dead, with her hands laid out over her knees and eyes closed. She meditated to become one with the gods, but that wouldn’t be enough.

You would be the one to bring her to it.

With little hesitation you brought your dagger onto your own palm, slashing across it. You strode up to Vi, walking around your lord until you stood behind her. You reached down to grab a fistful of her hair, jerking it backwards. Pale blue eyes snapped open, staring back up at you. The intensity of her gaze made you shiver as you held your clenched fist over her mouth, pouring your blood down past her lips as you rasped.

“Vi my love, drink me and make my vision real. Let me offer you all my strength…” When the last drop fell she closed her eyes as if the taste of you was enchanting. The look made your stomach twist, and you hummed as you walked around to face her, kneeling before your lord. You delicately cupped her jaw in the palm of your bloody hand, watching her eyes flutter open.

It is done. You leaned forward, and she knew what to do, devouring your lips in a burning kiss. You kissed her back with equal passion, the taste of her sullied with the metallic tinge of blood. Eventually, you pulled back, eyeing crimson smeared on her lips as you whispered.

“I see the death of a king.” Vi’s eyebrows furrowed, strong arms wrapping around you as she spoke just as softly.

“Which king?” You grinned, gleeful as you answered your love.

“I see…the death of Silco. The king of Wessex.”

#sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x you #vi x reader #arcane vi #vi x you #arcane #arcane x reader #sevika x reader x vi #arcane headcanon #okok so like silco is alfred is that not hilarious #i dunno wat im doing #but i do like vi here #shes real wholesome in later parts when like shes being a viking LMAO #also the bloodhair HAHA ARE U LAUGHING TLK FANS #this one is for u #the last kingdom au

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ladyinred2248 · 11 hours

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Personal / Fic update under the cut

Well, no new fic chapters from me this week which sucks!!! Usually I do so much writing on Sundays. But my work schedule is changing, so the weekend was a short one.. and then by next week everything will be back to normal!

Here’s what’s in store for next weekend:

Beltane, Part 3 🔥

Alfred x ServantGirl!Reader

The Offering Finan x OC Part 12 ( Finally )

TSP Finan x Reader Part 8

💕💕💕

#the last kingdom #finan the agile #finan tlk #tlk fandom #the last kingdom finan #tlk fanfic #finan tlk fanfic #finan x reader #alfred the great x reader

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arcielee · 1 year

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Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: Death mentioned in graphic detailing, night terrors, SA implied/mentioned, overall sexism because it is the 9th century. MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 2136 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: This will be a hybrid of the books and TLK show. The timelines will be adjusted for the plot and the names will match the Old English/9th Century. Please be mindful of chapter warnings as this shit will have dark moments and mature themes. Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter for helping me with this first chapter and to my darling @killergirlfuria to help me with the summary, as I am terrible at them. UPDATE: Thank you for this gif! @itbmojojoejo ♥ Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aspen-carter @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @randomdragonfires @httpsdoll @tssf-imagines

Chapter 1

The day was warm and bright, a beautiful day suitable for the celebration of the marriage between Æthelred of Mercia to the trueborn daughter of King Alfred. Wessex swelled from the festivities, with the bittersweet smell of ale, foods, and sweat that meshed with the wave of bodies gathering within the city walls.

Osferth was tall and lithe, able to see over the heads of the crowds, and surefooted to slip in-between the masses as he searched for one man in mind, as his uncle had encouraged.

Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

Before this, his life had been spent in the shadows of the monastery, well aware of his paternal heritage but unallowed to breathe a word about it. His clandestine confinement consisted of the repetition of scripture and prayer to atone for sins that were not his own, and it did not feed his faith, but instead allowed his bitterness for his banishment to fester within.

This changed on his thirteenth name day when Leofric came for a visit; he remembered him to be large, his voice low and grizzled as he regaled his time spent with the Dane slayer and he even shared about his mother; she had died during childbirth, but his uncle swore her strength was passed to him.

“I know you are angry, little man, but this is the safest place for you right now,” and his large palm rested on his thin shoulders, a fatherly squeeze for reassurance.

Osferth was heartsore when he learned of uncle’s death; the memory of those days they spent together was something he cherished, replaying in his mind and becoming a balm for his bitterness. His grief allowed a moment of complacency until his eighteenth name day when the abbot brought him a sword and a piece of parchment; he realized the scrawl of words belonged to his uncle and they brought a newfound peace, a drive with how Leofric spoke that a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.

The letter ended with a mantra, destiny is all.

So he left the monastery, wearing his weatherbeaten albe and with the baldric wrapped around his slim waist, that kept the gifted sword sheathed at his side.

He traveled, following the trail of celebrators into Wintanceaster until he saw him ahead, lounging on the steps and surrounded by his men; their eyes were watchful as Osferth pushed forward, he only stopped when he saw the blue eyes of the ealdorman-of-many-monikers focus on him.

“Lord,” he began, “you knew my uncle, Leofric.”

He saw how his eyes softened at the mention of the name and Osferth knew he held his attention. “Leofric was a great man,” Uhtred tilted his head up, looking over the young man.

Osferth nodded. “I have come to serve you, to be at your side as my uncle had.”

The motley men that surrounded Uhtred varied from Dane to Saxon; he heard the scoff and lilt of a dark haired, dark eyed man who muttered how they had no need for a baby monk. Osferth swallowed, “I have come to serve as a warrior, lord.” His eyes did not leave Uhtred.

He could see the quiet assessment from Uhtred, how his blue eyes surveyed him, and then he heard a smaller man, who was standing apart, who spoke out loud of his heritage beyond Leofric–that he was Alfred’s bastard.

“You are Alfred’s son,” Uhtred said, in part a question, but also a clarification. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you’ve come to offer me your sword.”

“And what has he done for me?” He struggled to smooth the bitterness that edged his tone. “Sent me away so I could become a priest or a monk, to be forgotten or simply denied my very existence altogether?” It was his turn to scoff. “But if I were to stay in Wessex, what would I expect to find? Favour?”

Uhtred raised his brows with his words and looked over at his Irishman, who only shrugged in response. “You may never see Wessex again,” his eyes did not break away from him.

“Then I would give my thanks to God for that,” and their looks showed Osferth it was not the expected reply. “It is the stench, lord,” he clarified, his eyes flitting around the people crowding the city.

Uhtred grinned, but before he could speak further, a guard called to his attention that the king called for him. Osferth shifted his weight under the guard’s gaze and Uhtred stood up, his eyes rolled over him once more before he said, “If you have a sword, you may stay,” and followed after the guard.

His lips curled with what he considered his small victory and his hand fell to the hilt, a pat on the pommel to reassure it was there. He felt the dark eyes of the Irishman focus on him. “Can you wield that, baby monk?” he asked Osferth.

“Well enough,” he replied and he heard a chuckle, looking behind to see a Dane with his arms wrapped around a woman whose auburn hair burned more red in the sunlight. “Though, I am willing to learn…”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” and the Irishman stepped down and placed a palm onto his shoulder, a squeeze to show comradery, or perhaps to feel for his strength, with a hold that reminded him of his uncle; his grin showed beneath his beard. “Let’s leave this noise and see what you are capable of then, baby monk.”

+ + + +

Keavy would allow her mind to return to the days she spent at the nunnery, a brief reprieve that allowed her to relive the only bit of peace she experienced since she arrived across the sea.

It began with the abbess and her pitied look when the slavers rolled through; Keavy was barely ten years of age, thin, quiet, and did her best to stay hidden. She remembered the warmth in her kindly brown eyes when the abbess looked to her and called for the cost of the little girl.

He had scoffed at first, but when she pressed, he only requested a cup of ale in exchange and it was quickly provided. Keavy watched the bob of his neck, how it spilled from the corners of his mouth and stained his tunic as he downed it. He belched when it was finished and shoved her forward. “She is yours, nun, but know that she has been cursed.”

She fell to the ground, her legs weak from the weeks at sea, unable to stop herself from hitting the dirt path. Keavy felt the burn in her palms and knees, her scars that lined the left side of her jaw and cheek–a parting gift of desperation from her mam the night their village was raided.

It was a night seared within her blood and that often returned to her with violent flashes when she slept. She was haunted by the cries from the villagers, how her daid handed her his dagger before taking a sword and leaving to fight with the other men. Her mam had begged and screamed for him not to leave, as anyone could see from the flames curling from the rooftops, licking the night sky, to the blood soaked earth that this battle was already lost.

Stories had terrorized the coast of Irland of the blood-lust traders and slavers who ravaged the shores, taking whatever they deemed profitable. They spoke of how villages would be nothing but ashes, how the surviving men would be sold off as slaves, of the horrors of what would happen to women and girls.

Her hands shook as she tied the belt around her waist, hiding the sheath beneath the layers of her skirt while her mam continued her screams. Keavy clung to the dagger as if it would keep her tethered to her daid, crying when her mam finally ripped it from her hold; her own hands shaking as she attempted soothing sounds that were choked by her tears. “I will not kill you, child,” she breathed and Keavy saw the manic fire in her blue eyes. “But you are far too pretty to survive across the sea.”

Her daid kept the blade sharp, his prized possession that came from his father before and his before that. She did not feel it until it nicked into her jawbone and only then did she cry, the blood spilling onto her clothes; she screamed for her mam to stop and fought back to pry it from her hands when the door barged in.

They were faceless, large and covered in blood and grime. Her mam was killed without so much as a scream and another grabbed her, searching for cloth for her wound and unaware as she tucked the dagger back into its sheath beneath her skirts. There was the tear of fabric and he pressed it to her face, before dragging her from her home, dragging her towards the shore.

She would never forget the heat of the flames, how she choked on the soot and smoke as she stumbled over the fallen bodies around; her hand pressing the cloth on her face and the other gripping her side, holding the handle of the blade. There was a bold moment that seized her chest, to plunge it into his side and run to find her daid, but then she saw him, one of the dead amongst the many bodies, with his sword in his hand and his eyes empty as they bored forward.

Keavy remembered how the fear replaced and gripped her heart and her vocal chords; she would not scream because she knew that no one would come for her.

She did not know how she survived crossing the sea, nor could she remember much more than the crude stitches that were given onboard, an attempt to save her, and the burn of her fever that ached her bones. “It is because God has a plan for you, little one,” the abbess would tell her later.

“I am cursed,” she would say, partly in defiance, partly to watch the reaction of the abbess and her wide brown eyes.

“Hush, child,” she would scold her, as always. “That man was a godless heathen and knew not what he said. He thought your worth was equal to a cup of mead!”

The nunnery she was brought to was built to overlook the rolling fields of Ebchester, with a river that curved through the hills. Here the abbess seemed relentless for the salvation of Kaevy’s soul and Keavy would allow the repetition of her fables and scriptures, all while palming the Celtic silver cross she wore beneath her plain tunic.

She remembered the day when Lady Gisela arrived, how her kindred spirit called to her and the lady was all too pleased with the bold Irish girl who shadowed her steps. The abbess allowed her to stay, Dane or not, and Keavy was delighted with her company over the other Saxon nuns.

Gisela had a kind smile and took care to answer her questions about her life before Ebchester. Keavy admired her worldly insight and her attention was rapt to the stories she told her about the love she shared with Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

“My lady, how do you know he will come for you?” Keavy asked, with a genuine curiosity of the faith Gisela held that seemed comparable, if not stronger, to the faith the nuns held for their Christian God.

“It is something you know,” Gisela smiled and it was as bright as the sun that warmed them. “You will know this when you are older.”

Keavy saw a glimpse of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, of Uhtred Ragnarsson, when he arrived as the savior promised. The day began with the arrival of strange men who spouted of the power of their God and how it allowed them to marry Gisela against her wishes; the abbess held onto Keavy tightly as she struggled forward, choking on the same helplessness she felt the night her village burned.

Uhtred was a force when he arrived, barging through the doors; when the abbot refused to be quiet, he killed him to silence him. The nuns cried, but Gisela and Keavy watched him. “Child, look away,” the abbess had whispered, but she was a young woman now and could not help the sense of satisfaction she felt as she watched the abbot bleed out on the wood floors.

Keavy remembered when they had left and for the first time she had prayed, not to a deity in specific, but the quiet prayer for Lady Gisela to enjoy her happiness. The stories she had shared stayed with her and allowed a sense of hope that she had not felt before.

Chapter 2 | masterlist

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

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mrsarnasdelicious · 3 months

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Alright, Yous asked for this - PART TWO

So, the list of all my drafts doesn't fit in one part...

Riding the Beasts SCP 682 smut CW: Monsterfucking

Sihtric AU-arama Just all osrts of Sihtric AUs, in a long, big list.

Some good ass edging Edging Modern!Sihtric, straight up smut

I'll Be Your Prize [Finan x Sihtric] Uhtred tells Finan he can ask for the thing he wants most, so Finan asks for Sihtric.

The Things We Do With Power - I The Boys fic, mild fix it, predominantly wicked smut.

A very old promise Once Upon the beginning of my blog, I promised to write a certain poly smut thing, so here goes nothing.

All About A Gag Sihtric x Finan x Osfert. Sihtric fakes a gag and Finan is not having it.

Domestic - Lan Mandragoran Lan x Reader, being cute.

One Big Bed Poly Wheel of Time smut. Rand is a slut in this one.

The Pantsident Mark tore his pants. Mark x Reader smut

A Long Drive [Marnas] Mark rips his pants and Arnas makes full use of the situation.

Orgasm Desperation - Stephen Colley Stephen x Reader, with reader making Stephen beg for it.

BoB Sexarama Shameless, plotless smut headcanons.

A3 - Throuple Aethelflead x Aldhelm x Aethelred headcanons

BoB Poly Family BS You get involved with Finan, Sihtric and Osferth and raise children with them. Modern verse, headcanon list

Band of Bebbanburgh - XII - Getting Ink Done Uhtred, Osferth, Finan and Sihtric are getting tatted and Sihtric likes it a bit too well.

First Kiss - Draco Malfoy Set during book six.

First Kiss - Eric Northman Simple as.

Basically every thought I have ever had about Sihtric, but in a pile Full ass headcanon dump on my very fav himbo.

Good Good Good, Good Vibrations Mr F uses a vibe on reader, in public, sorta.

Orgasm Desperation - Game!Lambert Needy Needy Lambertini.

Lambert in the Middle Lambert getting some DP from Eskel and Geralt.

Another Lovely Puppy Pile Reader x Many witchers (and Jaskier)

Band of Bebbanburgh - XI - Tetanus Uhtred 'challenges' Sihtric to catch a pigeon. Hoemboy gets pecked and scratched, but has no tetnaus immunisation, so Finan and Osferth have to wrangle him to go to the dco's. Sihtirc does not like doctors and has to be pacified with sexy times from his boyfriends.

Giving Birth to Sihtric's Child It is not reader's first and it will most certainly not be the last.

TLK Underworld AU Headcanon List about a mafia au of sorts

Finan Eating You Out He's good with his mouth, let's be real

How He Met Me - VI August POV version of The Prophet [fic]

At the Desk - Napoleon Solo Napoleon Solo fucking reader on her desk, Arranged Marriage verse.

Sex in the Changing Room - Modern!Sihtric Raunchy dirty naughty Sihtric fucking reader in the changing rooms of the local clothing store.

On the table - Sihtric Canon verse, he humps you on the table

Sex in the Bath - Captain Syverson Bath sex with Sy

Ever Curiouser - I Hellboy Longfic, polyship.

Some Bebbanboys smut, bc I am nasty Smutty stuff with Sihtric x Finan x Osferth

Ben Daimio x Werewolf Reader A beastly smut

The Bebbanboys Band AU headcanons

Ben Daimio - Sneaking Around Smutty, you and Ben avoid getting caught while fucking on the job

Sweetheart Prompt #3 Ivar Lothbrok, suprise surprise

Band of Bebbanburgh - X - What Sihtric Does Best Smut fest about Sihtric sucking dick

Ulysses Klaue Smut Does exactly what it says on the tin.

No Way We Are Making Homework - Modern Ubbe Modern Ubbe x Reader. You should be making homework, but you are not.

Nasty Nasty Dirty Gross Ubbe CW: Incest Ubbe uses one specific way of making Hvitserk listen.

Ubbe x Alfred - Modern AU Ubbe and Alfred shower together.

This Home I Built - TLK Poly Fest Selfish fix it fic, lotsa smut, mainly about Sihtric.

Santiago Garcia Breeding Kink V1 Santi knocking you up.

Alpha Geralt Going Feral Nasty smut with no excuses

Sihtric - Breeding Kink V1 Sihtric knocking you up

Omega Sihtric Going Feral Needy Omega Sihtric

Alpha Geralt Scenting You Scenting sesh getting out of hand.

Santiago Garcia - Rough Sex Ah yes, more shameless porn with no plot.

Scenting Omega Sihtric Scenting Omega Sihtric gets out of hand.

My Fair Lady Shameless Aldflaed smut

Expectations - Loki Shameless Loki smut

Choking Sam Winchester Reader applying some pressure to a big moose, sexually.

At Saltwick What happened between Sihtric, Finan and Osferth while the kids were asleep.

Sex in Public - Sihtric Canon verse.

Neteyam x Au'Nung Neteyam almost died and Au'Nung is distressed.

Proof That I am an Aweful Person [TLK Poly stuff] More ReaderxPretty Boys headcanons

Fjall Stoneheart - Doggystyle Shameless smut

Band of Bebbanburgh - IX - Seeking Refuge Osferth goes to Finan when his homelife starts turning for the worst.

Breeding V1 - Jake Sully Jake Sully knocking you up.

Band of Bebbanburgh - VIII - Show You How Sihtric teases Osferth how to please Finan

Band of Bebbanburgh - VII - Small Comforts Finan having himself a slice of Sihtric.

Band of Bebbanburgh - VI - Sihtric's Dream Sihtric wakes up from a bad dream and Finan and Osferth put him at ease.

By God(s) and Men - Finan x Sihtric Canon verse; Sihtric and Finan figure out their dynamic.

The Baker's Boy - Finan x Sihtric Modern AU; Finan just realised he's been in love with Sihtric all along.

The Witan - Mark/Arnas/Reader CW: RPF and RPS Established Arnas x Reader and Past Marnas. Arnas convinced reader to come along to a TLK cast vaca and things spin swiftly out on his control.

All Three of Them Reader x Sihtric x Finan x Osferth smut

Threesome with Sihtric and Osferth Shameless smut with a lil twist

Threesome with Sihtric and Finan Dirty smutty smut smut smut

#there is a part three coming #yes I am not yet done #current score: 110

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idksmtms · 4 months

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WIPs

Here's a list of all my current WIPs so you have some idea of what my focuses are!

Cillian Murphy and co:

-Cillian x Actress!reader - Actors on Actors Interview -Cillian x Actress!reader - Risqué movie -Cillian x Actress!reader - Meeting the kids

-Fairy King!Cillian x Trapped Human!reader - Fantasy AU -Hurt Human!Cillian x Fairy!reader - Fantasy AU -Ballet Teacher!Cillian x Ballerina!reader - Dancer AU

House of the Dragon:

-Stepdad!Daemon x Stepdaughter!reader -Cregan Stark x Red Keep Maid!reader -Grumpy!Cregan x Sunshine!reader

-Aemond Targaryen x reader - Modern AU -Fairy Prince!Aemond x Lost Human!reader - Fantasy AU -Werewolf!Cregan Stark x reader - Fantasy AU

Hunger Games AUs -Past District Winner!Daemon x New Tribute!reader -Left-behind!Cregan x Tribute!reader, Capitol Mentor!Aemond x Tribute!reader - Part 2

JJK:

-Stepdad!Toji x Stepdaughter!reader -Boyfriend's Dad!Nanami Kento x reader -Step-bro!Megumi x Step-sis!reader

TLK:

-Sigtryggr x hostage!reader -Sigtryggr x Princess!reader -Osferth x Virgin!reader -Osferth x Uhtred's Daughter!reader -Finan x Uhtred's Daughter!reader -Finan x Novice!reader -Sihtric x Uhtred's Daughter!reader -Sihtric x Thyra-esque!reader -Freyr!Sihtric x Gerðr!reader -Thor!Sihtric x Sif!reader -Uhtred x Alfred's Daughter!reader -Ragnar x Captive!reader

Percy Jackson and the Olympians:

-Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader Request -Poseidon x Goddess!reader -Poseidon x Seer!reader -Luke x Daughter of Demeter!reader -Luke x Daughter of Poseidon!reader -Luke x Daughter of Demeter!reader

#current wip #wip #wip wednesday #my wips #work in progress

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silverflameataraxia · 2 years

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It anyone's interested, I've begun working on a playlist for The Last Kingdom. Even though Uhtred and Æthelflæd are on the cover, it's not exclusive to them, but rather the show as a whole.

I hope you enjoy!

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icarusignite · 7 months

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Hey! I don't know if this is the proper format (still kind of new here) but I'm sending in this prompt for an Alfred × Reader fic. There's this idea for him that was stuck in my head a couple months ago. So…

It's set either S2 or S3 but it fits better in S3 or the break between 2 and 3. Alfred is really ill which isn't unusual for him, but this time he's taking a lot longer for him to heal and he's deteriorating more seriously than he normally would.

People in court start looking around for new healers and remedies. Alfred is also kind of desperate because he doesn't want to die before England is complete or Edward is ready to take over.

Reader, who is a healer, comes to court with the intention of helping Alfred. She's neither Dane nor Saxon, if you're comfortable with it she could be of Asian or African origin/descent (eg Father Benedict in S5). She's either Muslim or Christian, either way she's well read and a bit of a scholar (if you've seen Vikings: Valhalla S2, there's a female character that might ring a bell). She's also able to reassure him, like Iseult, that she's treating him with nature's bounty and nothing sinister.

Because she's a scholar (also maybe a Christian), Alfred is comfortable that she's not practicing witchcraft so this helps him accept her more easily. It also helps them bond and they become really close friends over the course of the months she spends treating him. They have fun banter and he's able to feel like Alfred, the man around her instead of King Alfred. Then he realizes that he has feelings for her.

At this point it could go any way really. Does Aelswith factor into it much or not? Does reader reciprocate his feelings or not? If she does, would she be comfortable giving into them and being a mistress? Is Aelswith even in the picture or is this a slight AU? Do they have a sad, happy or bittersweet ending? Idk

For extra spice, Reader could also be good friends with Uhtred or Finan which makes Alfred a little jealous but also sad because he thinks that she'd probably prefer the charming, handsome, potentially single, strapping man to whatever measly affection he could offer her.

Ideally, it would be fluff or smut but whatever you're comfortable writing is fine! Sorry if this is too long but I wanted to be as clear as possible 😅. I also understand if this is too much for a oneshot and you forego the idea entirely

Alfred the great x POC! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Heyy, so sorry this took literally eons to finally write. Thank you for your lovely request and also thank u for your patience <3 Hope you enjoy what I've done with your idea, and dw this will have another part where I'll explore their chemistry more. I watched a bunch of Alfred edits to get in the mood and ngl I'm lowkey in love with him now lmfao.

Disclaimer: there might be some (a lot) historical discrepancies because I didn't line up the dates exactly but I did find out that the Golden Age of Islam overlapped significantly with the dates that the last kingdom spans so the reader is a prominent scholar from Baghdad. Also, Aelswith is dead (I'm sorry T_T) cuz I don't love a cheating trope even when it is sort of historically accurate. So we have single dad Alfred lol.

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

Entering King Alfred's throne room, your senses were immediately awakened by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and scents of Wessex. The room itself was a stark contrast to the opulent palaces and grand courts of Baghdad that you were accustomed to. The room was spacious, yet its decoration was surprisingly humble and simple, adorned with rough-hewn wooden beams and modest tapestries that depicted various scenes of English myths and prominent events. With a flash of triumph, you found that you recognized some of them from your studies of the English culture. A faint scent of burning wood from the hearth permeated the air with an earthy aroma.

You observed the nobles in attendance, or the ealdormen as they were called here, their attire markedly different from the splendid silks and jewels of Baghdad's court. Here, the people wore simpler garments made of sturdy wool and linen, in the dark colours of the earth as opposed to the the vibrant clothing the people of your home favoured.

Your gaze then turned to the throne itself. It was a robust wooden chair, its design austere yet imposing, lacking the grandeur of the magnificent thrones you had imagined English kings liked to occupy. King Alfred's regal figure atop the throne created a dignified presence. His clothing, matched the style of his ealdormen, long simple robes of a dull grey. The seat next to him was empty and you briefly wondered about his family. The chronicles you had read stated that a king's wife usually took her place beside him when he held court, but you did not know much of Alfred's wife.

Your fingers itched for your writing instruments, yearning to document all your observations and the happenings of the court. You seldom went anywhere without them, but now they remained tucked away in your satchel as you waited for the king to acknowledge your presence. You knew he had seen you enter, his eyes briefly meeting yours, even as he conversed with his ealdormen. Eventually, your thoughts began to wander and you couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast between the scorching heat of Baghdad and the chilly bite of autumn in Wessex. your flowing linen tunic and trousers, so comfortable in the sweltering desert of your homeland, felt inadequate against the cold English air that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls.

You discreetly rubbed your tingling fingertips together, trying to generate some warmth, as the fire blazing at the hearth did little to banish the chill that had settled in your bones. Your longing for the warmth of the caliphate's sun was keenly felt in this unfamiliar and frigid environment.

Impatience welled up within you as you glanced around the chamber, noting the courtiers' stoic expressions and hushed conversations. The king's deliberations seemed to stretch on endlessly, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when you could finally present your credentials and seek the audience you had travelled so far to obtain.

King Alfred's voice finally called out your name, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"Esteemed lady, I welcome you to the court of Wessex."

The ealdormen, accustomed to the formalities of their court, were taken aback when you did not bow or curtsy as was expected. Instead, you offered a polite smile and tipped your head in a gesture of respect.

A murmur of surprise and disapproval rippled through the assembled courtiers. Some whispered that your behaviour was disrespectful, a breach of protocol. They exchanged curious glances, wondering how their king would react to this departure from tradition.

However, King Alfred took no offence. With a gracious nod, he signalled for you to speak.

"Thank you, your grace. It is an honour to be here."

Your accent was soft, lending your words a foreign intonation, and each syllable was carefully enunciated. You had spent months learning the language, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself now by messing up your pronunciation.

"I extend my deepest gratitude to you for undertaking such a long and arduous journey at my request. I hope the discomfort of the voyage did not prove too taxing."

"Your Majesty," you replied, "it was a journey of great honour for me, and I hope to make myself useful here."

King Alfred nodded appreciatively and then turned to a servant standing nearby.

"Please, ensure that the lady is provided with comfortable quarters and all the amenities she may require during your stay in Wessex."

The servant bowed in acknowledgment and stepped forward to escort you to your residence within the royal palace. You thanked the king once more for his hospitality and assistance before following the servant out of the chamber.

As you left the throne room, your observant nature couldn't help but take note of King Alfred's condition. Despite his attempt to appear at ease in his chair, you had perceived the subtle signs of discomfort. His favouring of his left side, indicating pain or injury to his right, and the unusually pallid complexion for an Englishman raised concerns in your scholarly mind. That was your purpose, after all, to try to diagnose and hopefully cure the ailing monarch.

Just when you were gone, the noblemen of King Alfred's court wasted no time in flocking around him, their curiosity piqued by the arrival of the enigmatic woman. They bombarded the king with questions and voiced their concerns about the unfamiliar customs you had displayed.

One nobleman, his voice dripping with skepticism, remarked, "Your Majesty, did you see that? She didn't bow or curtsy as she should have! It's as if she has no respect for you."

Another, eyeing your unusual attire and complexion, chimed in, "And her clothing, Your Grace! It's unlike anything I've ever seen in Wessex. She's clearly not from anywhere near England. What could she possibly want here?"

The murmurs of disapproval and suspicion spread among the courtiers, as they exchanged perplexed glances. To them, your arrival was an anomaly, and your behaviour had raised eyebrows and questions.

King Alfred, his countenance calm and measured, raised a hand to quell the growing unease.

"I understand your concerns, but there is nothing to worry about" he began, addressing their concerns. "The lady you have just met is a prominent figure from Baghdad. She has travelled from a distant land to be here and she is not here to defy our traditions or customs. She is a scholar seeking to further her studies in Wessex. Her journey to our land is a great honour, as it reflects the recognition of the importance of our own intellectual pursuits."

His tone left no room for further skepticism. He also did not mention the other reason you were there, as he did not wish to reveal the truth of his declining health. As the nobles filtered out of the room, somewhat still unsatisfied by his answer, Alfred couldn't help but remain still, his mind going over the recent developments. When he had first written to the Abbasid Caliphate to request that he be allowed to host a medical scholar at his court, he had to admit he was not expecting a woman, and certainly not one so beautiful.

The next day, Alfred summoned you to his private chambers for a consultation regarding his health. As you entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the change in your attire. Gone was the flowing linen tunic and trousers, replaced by a sturdier, more practical woollen English dress. The deep blue gauzy veil, however, was still draped around your head and flowed down your back.

The English clothing seemed to complement you, accentuating your elegance in a way that was both unexpected and captivating. The king, not for the first time, found himself admiring you, though he kept such thoughts to himself, mindful of the formal context of your meeting.

You, ever the professional scholar, maintained a polite and formal distance as you began your examination of the king. You inquired about his symptoms, listening attentively to his description of the pain and discomfort he had been experiencing. Your deep knowledge and keen medical insight were evident as you asked probing questions and conducted a thorough assessment.

After a careful evaluation, you began to discuss your observations and your initial diagnosis with the king. You explained your thoughts on the potential causes of his discomfort and suggested a course of treatment. King Alfred was grateful for your expertise, and couldn't help but be struck by your intellect. He had a thirst for knowledge himself and he appreciated the quality in others when he saw it. In you he recognized a passion for learning and documentation, one he held himself as well. After the medical examination, he extended an invitation to you to remain in his chambers and share a cup of tea. Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed, recognizing the value of the opportunity to engage in conversation with the English monarch.

Seated in the warmth of the chamber, Alfred began to share with you the rich history of England, its struggles, its triumphs, and its cultural tapestry. He spoke of the challenges of the Anglo-Saxon period, the battles against the Danes, and the enduring spirit of the English people. As he narrated the history of his land, Alfred couldn't help but notice how your eyes lit up with a deep fascination, even though you attempted to contain your enthusiasm. Your questions flowed naturally as you probed deeper into the history and culture of Wessex. You asked about the Anglo-Saxon kings, the legends and folklore, and the development of the English language.

You kept diligent notes in your little notebook, your hand swiftly capturing every detail of the conversation. Your keen intellect and insatiable thirst for knowledge were evident, and your genuine interest in Alfred's words warmed his heart. It had been quite a while since anyone had paid such rapt attention to what he was saying, and he found himself rejuvenated by your exchange.

As a lull settled over your conversation, Alfred's curiosity got the better of him. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "My lady, I must admit, I'm quite curious about the contents of that notebook of yours. What sort of information have you been documenting to take back to your homeland?"

You smiled, your demeanour more relaxed than when you had first come in, "Your Majesty, you need not worry. I promise you, I haven't written that the English are fire-breathing trolls."

Alfred felt a grin tug at his lips, but he suppressed the urge, keeping his hands folded placidly over his stomach.

"Well, you know, if we English could breathe fire, we might have an easier time dealing with our enemies!"

"There is a trick that performers back home use, to give the illusion of breathing fire. The science behind it is quite fascinating. Perhaps I shall explain it to you sometime."

"Ah yes my lady, you have filled your book with our tales, but have yet to share yours. Do you have any secrets from the East that you'd like to share with us humble English folk?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his words, "I'm afraid some secrets are best left in the lands where they belong, your grace. We wouldn't want you to start brewing Persian tea incorrectly, now would we?"

"I doubt it can compete with our tried and trusted English tea."

"You only think that way because you haven't tried Persian tea yet. Trust me, once you have, there's no going back."

"I suppose you make a fair point! Although, I must admit, the thought of trying to decipher the intricacies of Arabic calligraphy is rather tempting."

You paused, your light-hearted nature urging you to make another joke but you strictly reminded yourself that you were in the presence of a king. It would do you no good to offend him with an ill-timed statement. You were already apprehensive about your earlier comment about the Persian tea, although you were grateful that he chose not to see it as a slight. As if sensing your hesitation, Alfred sat up in bed and leaned forward.

"You are free to speak my lady, do not hold yourself back on my account," he reassured with a wave of his hand.

Still, you settled for a polite smile, "I was just going to remark on the difficulty of calligraphy but I am certain that if anyone would be able to master it, it'd be you, Your Majesty."

A small furrow appeared between Alfred's brows as if that wasn't the answer he expected from you. He could see you pulling away, going back to your polite, almost cold professionalism. Eventually, he nodded thoughtfully at you.

"I would be ever so grateful if you could perhaps show me the technique someday, my lady."

You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded with a small smile.

"Now, about that notebook, if you would allow me to take a look?"

"Ah yes, of course," you handed over the small leatherbound journal to him quickly without further complaints. "But I must warn you, my handwriting isn't at its most legible."

Alfred accepted the notebook with a nod of appreciation. As he leafed through its pages, his eyes quickly fell upon your meticulously written notes. Your thoughts were inscribed in your native language and although he did not understand the words, your elegant looping script impressed him.

He raised an eyebrow and turned toward you expectantly, pointing toward a specific passage, "And what does this say right here?"

"It is a description of the English weather, your grace."

Alfred leaned closer, his finger tracing the inked lines on the page.

"Ah yes, English weather. It was raining when you first arrived, wasn't it? What do you think of our English rain then, my lady? I've heard it has a certain charm."

"Well, I believe your rain can be quite persuasive. It insists that one should stay indoors and read a good book."

Alfred's lips twitched again, fighting back a smile. It seemed that the new scholar shared his interests as well.

"A wise perspective, indeed. Perhaps our English rain is simply encouraging a literary lifestyle."

"Yes, your grace."

"My lady" he continued, a note of genuine admiration in his voice, "I must tell you, your handwriting is truly exquisite. Tell me, just how many languages have you learned."

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at his compliment. There was something sincere in his eyes as he waited for your answer, looking at you like your accomplishments were the greatest thing in the world. You opened your mouth to respond but then a loud knock sounded on the door and a priest entered.

"Yes, Father Beocca," Alfred seemed irritated at the interruption.

Father Beocca's eyes glanced from you to the king, and despite the fact that you were sitting in a chair quite some distance away from him, you felt a strange flash of awkward embarrassment run through you.

"My king, Uhtred is here to see you," the priest finally stated.

Alfred sighed and turned toward you with an apologetic smile, "Shall we continue our conversation another time then, my lady? It seems that I am needed elsewhere."

"Yes, of course, your grace."

You quickly took your leave then, choosing to take one of your books and go read in the garden. You had just settled yourself into a comfortable nook when loud boisterous laughter caught your attention. Turning your gaze towards the source of the commotion, you spotted three men, two of whom were dressed in the attire of warriors. Their boisterous behaviour was evident as they playfully teased and shoved the third man, who was clad in robes that resembled those of Father Beocca. However, a leather breastplate adorned his monk's attire, hinting at a surprising duality of roles – priest and fighter.

The two warriors were engaged in a lively exchange with the monk, their laughter echoing through the garden. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the scene unfold. Their camaraderie and jesting reminded you of the Caliph's sons back home, when your father would take you to visit the palace.

One of the warriors, a bearded man with broad shoulders and a hearty laugh, clapped the monk on the back.

"Come now, Osferth," he said between chuckles, "surely your devotion to the Lord could use a bit of levity now and then."

The monk, Osferth, grinned in response, "Aye Finan, it is said that laughter is the best medicine, is it not?"

The other warrior, a lean and quick-witted fellow, joined in with a jest, "Well, if that's the case, Osferth, then Finan here will live to be a hundred and you shall die tomorrow!"

Osferth elbowed the tall man in the ribs, "Not before I knock some sense into you Sihtric."

Their jovial banter and good-natured teasing continued, creating a lively atmosphere in the serene garden. You couldn't help but be amused by their antics and the familiarity of their interactions, watching them for quite some time.

The trio of men eventually noticed your presence, and with their laughter dying down, they made their way over to you. As they approached, their expressions revealed a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

The broad-shouldered warrior, Finan, whose eyes twinkled with mischief, was the first to speak. "Well, what have we here?" he said with a grin. "A traveller from foreign shores, I presume?"

"Yes, I am from Baghdad, my lord."

The warrior, clearly taken with you, couldn't resist a flirtatious remark.

"Lady, I must say, you are a wondrous addition to our English garden."

You snorted at his attempt at flirtation.

Meanwhile, the monk with the leather breastplate maintained a more respectful demeanour.

"Greetings, lady, I am Osferth," he said with a nod. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask what brings you to our humble Wessex?"

You found the monk's polite curiosity quite refreshing.

"Greetings to you too, Osferth. I've come to further my studies here. Wessex has much to offer in terms of knowledge and history, and I hope to make the most of it."

"Well, my lady, if ever you wish to explore our English shores, I'd be delighted to be your guide," it was Finan who spoke again and you could not help but laugh at his words.

"Thank you, kind sir. Your offer is most gracious."

“Call me Finan, my lady.”

Your change continued as they asked more about you and your hometown and you asked about theirs. You found out that they were a band of warriors who followed some fellow named Uhtred, the very same Uhtred who was currently speaking to King Alfred. As the conversation flowed, you discovered that you enjoyed speaking with these men. Their witty banter and friendly demeanour made you feel at ease, despite the foreignness of your surroundings. You shared stories of your travels, your scholarly pursuits, and the cultural nuances of your homeland. The men, in turn, regaled you with tales of their own adventures.

As you continued to engage in playful banter with the warriors, you remained oblivious to the presence of King Alfred and Uhtred, who had ventured outside and were observing the lively exchange.

Eventually, with a confident stride, Uhtred made his way toward your group to make his introduction and Father Beocca approached the king with his concerns.

"Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "I must admit, I have reservations about entrusting your treatment to a foreigner, especially one from so distant a land. We must be cautious of witchcraft and unfamiliar practices."

King Alfred turned to Father Beocca, his expression thoughtful but resolute, "Father Beocca, I understand your concerns, but the lady is no ordinary foreigner. She hails from Baghdad, a city known for its innovative medical advancements and a center of learning in the Islamic world. She comes as one of their finest scholars, sent by the Caliph himself."

"I see, your grace."

"I have read extensively about the great Islamic civilization, and its contributions to science, medicine, and philosophy. I believe we have much to learn from her, not only about medicine but also about fostering understanding and collaboration between our cultures. They have succeeded in uniting several lands under one caliphate, so perhaps we might learn how we may unite England as well."

Father Beocca, though still cautious, nodded in understanding, "Your Majesty, I trust your judgment. It is my fervent hope that the lady's presence here will indeed lead to beneficial knowledge and that she will uphold the values of wisdom and compassion."

"Thank you, Father Beocca. Let us have faith in this unique opportunity for cultural exchange and enlightenment. Her presence is a bridge between worlds, and I believe it is a path toward a brighter future for Wessex."

Over the course of the next few months, you became familiar with the routines of the Wessex palace. King Alfred allowed you to shadow him throughout his day, believing that you could provide valuable insights into his own activities. It was a decision that would lead to a profound connection between the two of you.

Every day, you diligently prepared poultices and medications for the king’s ailments, and often you’d recite the recipe to him and explain the purpose of each herb and plant that went into it. He found that he trusted you completely but he was still comforted by your transparency and the efforts you took to explain things to him. Sometimes he would insist on accompanying you on walks and you would point out the various native English plants and their counterparts back home. You also documented the king's activities and observations in your notebook. At times, he would request to see your notebook, often just to admire the beauty of your script. He marvelled at the graceful lines of your writing, and the intricate calligraphy that adorned the pages.

Your interactions went beyond the formalities of your initial meeting. King Alfred, always eager to learn, would occasionally ask you to translate certain passages from your native language and over time, your bond grew stronger. King Alfred began to look forward to each day, eager to see your bright and colourful veil, a striking contrast to your plain English gowns. He would wonder which hue you would choose, and it became a delightful anticipation in his daily routine.

Your conversations transcended the realm of duty and scholarly pursuits. The two of you shared your favourite books, discussing the nuances of various works and debating the merits of different translations. Your insights challenged Alfred's own understanding, and he cherished these moments of intellectual stimulation.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, Alfred realized that you had become an important fixture in his life. your presence was a source of inspiration, a reminder of the power of knowledge, and a testament to the potential for understanding and collaboration between different cultures.

He found himself thinking of you when he was apart from you, reminiscing about how your eyes would dance with mirth as you argued with him about the inaccuracies of translated works, or how your laughter would fill the palace corridors. You had not only enriched his pursuit of knowledge but had also touched his heart, becoming a cherished friend and confidante in the process.

Alfred could still vividly recall the way you had looked at him with genuine wonder and appreciation when he had shown you his humble library. He knew that compared to the great libraries of Alexandria and Baghdad, his collection was modest, but you had delighted in it all the same. Your eyes, filled with curiosity and admiration, had swept over the numerous scrolls and manuscripts, taking in the wealth of knowledge contained within those walls.

In that moment, as you softly murmured your thanks, Alfred felt his breath catch. He was struck not only by the beauty of your physical presence but also by the grace with which you carried yourself and the genuine enthusiasm you displayed for learning. Your voice had a melodic quality that lingered in his memory. It was a voice that seemed to breathe life into the ancient texts that surrounded you and the king found himself quite enamoured with you. The two of you spent many a late night pouring over scrolls together, and although he always kept a respectful distance, Alfred found himself wanting to brush away the stray strands of hair that fell across your forehead, having escaped the tightly bound coil you usually kept your hair in.

Tonight was one such night as the dim light of the candle burned low, and after a lively discussion on herbal medicine, you had fallen asleep on one of the ancient manuscripts. Alfred, his mind still buzzing with the echoes of your conversation, fought against the pull of sleep. Instead, he watched you slumber, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness.

In the soft candlelight of the library, you appeared even more enchanting. Your thick eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as you slept peacefully, your features serene. Your form rose and fell with each gentle breath, a rhythmic reminder of the tranquil cadence of sleep. Alfred couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty in this unburdened state. The play of shadows and light highlighted the delicate contours of your face, and the soft glow of the manuscripts around you lent an almost ethereal quality to the scene. You looked like a vision from a dream.

As he watched your slumber, a sudden, unexpected urge welled up within him. He was struck by the temptation to lean in and kiss you, but he quickly banished the traitorous thought. What an absurd thing for a king to do, to force his affections on a guest in his home. Especially when he had no way of knowing if you returned his feelings. He would have to content himself with the simple act of watching you sleep, his heart filled with a deep and unspoken longing.

He also found himself wondering if you were betrothed, for you couldn’t possibly be married and still be here. What man would not accompany you or let you out of his sight if you were his wife? Although you had discussed many things, you did not stray close to personal topics such as family. You were only a few years younger than him and surely you had to have someone in your life. And even if you didn’t, what could you possibly want with an ailing man like him when a woman as accomplished as you could have anyone in the world?

Such melancholy things plagued him as he eventually drifted asleep on the table across from you, his final thoughts fixating on what it might feel like to have your lips against his.

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tlkfanficfest · 4 years

Text

TLK FANFIC FEST - FILL POST

Well TLK Fandom you have OUTDONE yourselves. What started as a little endeavour I thought would go nowhere resulted in 34 brand new fics in TWO WEEKS. Also, today they announced we are getting a Season 5 for TLK. If that isn’t the universe saying all our positive energy worked, I don’t know what is!

I’ve tried to list the fills alphabetically by prompt, and included both a tumblr link/AO3 link(if available). Round 2 will go up tomorrow so check back soon because that prompt submission box will be open and ready to take your requests! I’ve also got a few new things coming but you’ll hear all about it tomorrow.

IF I HAVE MISSED A FILL PLEASE MESSAGE ME.

Round 1 Prompt Fills:

"Keen is the wind, bare the hill, it is difficult to find shelter; the ford is marred, the lake freezes, a man could stand on a single stalk." - from a Welsh poem, 'Winter', c.11th century, author unknown

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25043593 by @chaos_is_welcome

"The ocean is full, the sea is in flood, lovely is the home of ships ... the rudder is swift upon the wide sea." - from an 11th century Irish poem, A Storm at Sea, author unknown

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25080601 by @chaos_is_welcome

Aelswith/Alfred, first meeting

https://minimartian.tumblr.com/post/622947185597743104/rolls-off-the-tongue-aelswithalfred by @minimartian

Aethelflaed/Aldhelm, “you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

https://tobebbanburg.tumblr.com/post/622074165361606656/duty-decency-tobebbanburg-the-last-kingdom by @tobebbanburg (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24943159)

Aldhelm has a Nice Day for once

https://cocchamscrew.tumblr.com/post/622713412871421952/day-out-aldhelm-x-aethelflaed by @cocchamscrew (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25068061)

https://sihtric.tumblr.com/post/622862452389019648/caged-birds-flying-free by @sihtric (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25117453)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997012 by @superprincesspea

Aldhelm, resting and thinking back on his life, Finan and Sihtric come across him. They talk.

https://softestark.tumblr.com/post/622727659241275392/a-truth-you-cant-avoid-softestark-the-last by @softestark ( https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25070851)

Coccham crew get drunk and start flyting against each other

https://tobebbanburg.tumblr.com/post/621729570931015680/flyting-fighting-tobebbanburg-the-last by @tobebbanburg (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24878602)

Eadith/Finan, it was never about pleasure for Eadith until Finan

https://superprincesspea.tumblr.com/post/621821375618891776/winchesters-finest by @superprincesspea (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896029)

https://jade-masquerade.tumblr.com/post/622774509711327232/the-altar-is-my-hips by @jade-masquerade (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25082065)

Eadith/Finan, it was never about pleasure for Eadith until Finan / Eadith/Finan, Eadith trusts Finan with her life, but she needs to convince him she trusts him with her body.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24973942 by @chaos_is_welcome

Eadith/Finan/Uhtred, relationship negotiations

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24908578 by @NotInPublic

Finan and Uhtred roadtrip

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24953728 by @solarlotus

Finan, "Don't pretend like you're asleep. Should I find a way to wake you up?"(obvs on the smutty side... I can see it already!)

https://geekandbooknerd.tumblr.com/post/621931804972253184/morning-after-modern-finan-x-reader by @geekandbooknerd

Finan, Finan shares his cloak with the reader at the fire to keep them both warm. His hands wander occasionally / Sihtric rescues the reader from drowning.

https://righmarbh.tumblr.com/post/622266186253598720/love-like-winter by @righmarbh

Finan, Finan shares his cloak with the reader at the fire to keep them both warm. His hands wander occasionally.

https://lauwrite1225.tumblr.com/post/621715492568219648/cold-night-finan-x-reader by @lauwrite1225 (

Finan, him being soft and him caring for kids in my lfie

https://lauwrite1225.tumblr.com/post/622020890369130496/tlkfff2020-tlkfanficfest-imagine-2-finan-him by @lauwrite1225

Finan/Sihtric, that first night after Finan knows Sihtric didn't really abandon them.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24996745 by @tobebbanburg

Finan/Uhtred, stuck in a confessional box. Can be as naughty as you like. Bonus for Aelswith coming to pray whilst they're stuck.

https://righmarbh.tumblr.com/post/621727119535407104/cloisterfuck by @righmarbh

Finan/Uhtred, they know each other like the back of their hands

https://azyland.tumblr.com/post/621846930215108608/etched-in-your-skin-azyland-the-last-kingdom by @azyland (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24901645)

https://tsukkinami.tumblr.com/post/622118184480342016/like-the-back-of-my-hand by @tsukkinami(https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24951751)

Finan/Uhtred, we are bound.

https://bird-on-a-wire20.tumblr.com/post/622448696390565888/the-best-of-mornings-finanuhtred-drabble by @bird-on-a-wire20

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25114897 by @kirstenseas

Gisela/Hild, hurt/comfort

https://druellasrosier.tumblr.com/post/622256354464317440/solertia-dolore-written-for-tlkfanficfest-prompt by @druellasrosier (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24979051)

Jealous possessive Finan please!

https://nxrdist.tumblr.com/post/621821341628317696/tlkfanficfest-prompt-fill-for by @nxrdist

Osferth saves Finan and Sihtric’s life from Danes and has a little smirk at the end. / Sihtric and Osferth bonding over being bastards

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24936049 by @limenal

Radio station AU of any description. Wessex FM, Bebbanburg Beats, Mercia Magic...

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/25102252 by salto

Sihtric/Reader, Enemies to Lovers, smut should definitely take place. They have been on opposite sides for years until one day changes everything forever.

https://valhallasubstitute.tumblr.com/post/621804826542718976/that-one by @valhallasubstitute

https://geekandbooknerd.tumblr.com/post/622293481002565633/opposites-sihtric-x-reader by @geekandbooknerd

The Coccham crew get a little tipsy and Sihtric ends up with his most interesting haircut yet

https://for-bebbanburg.tumblr.com/post/621846264781422592/the-haircut by @for-bebbanburg

The Cookham squad mourn the death of Steapa.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24989260 by @chaos_is_welcome

Uhtred is visited by the actual Night Walker and they have a philosophical conversation around the campfire.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tlkfanficfest/works/24987775 by @kirstenseas

Uhtred/Gisela/Finan is a thing and they need to figure out who is the baby daddy now that Gisela is pregnant.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960037 by @NotInPublic

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Note

Hello love! I’d love to request prompt 19 “Please don’t say you love me.” with Alfred from The Last Kingdom, please! 😊 I hope you have fun writing and thank you so much! 💕

WARNINGS: Mention of Inefedelity, Light Depression, Modern AU (but the biggest warnings should be Alfred being the true hoe of the show).

Finishing college was something that you had thought would be truly revelatory for you.

But now with a degree and thousand dollars of debt, you were left to go back to your hometown with nothing to do and no willingness to do anything else than lounge around on the deckchair in the back of your parents’ house.

Where you had first caught glimpse of him-

Your neighbor, Alfred.

He had been trying to get his older child, a pretty blonde girl, inside, meanwhile she insisted on wanting to continue her own camping party in the garden although she had been called to go inside to enjoy lunch with the family.

You had hidden yourself behind your glasses, but you had looked at the slender man, as he skillfully contracted with the girl for a few more minutes, finally getting her to agree to come inside, after her time had run up.

Then his eyes had moved onto the surrounding garden and the fence separating you from his house.

They had lingered on your half-naked body, since you were wearing a biking top and a pair bootie shorts.

His gaze had warmed up your body in a way that made you shiver also in the hot air of the suburban summer.

But then you had simply thought that he was the usual neighborhood pervert.

You had met him the following day at mass, your parents bringing you in hope it’d give you the willingness you had lost after college after you had finished and you had found with nothing else to do and no future in sight.

You had thought it was good to satisfy them, mostly because you didn’t want to make them question any further your behavior, knowing perfectly that they wouldn’t have properly understood what was going through you.

You had endured mass, but as you had been ready to leave, your mother had insisted on letting you meet one of the most influent people in town, and one ‘good Christian man’.

And it had been the fucking neighborhood pervert.

This time unable to spy on your conservative clothes, although his behavior was completely different, something majestically powerful in his gaze, although he looked quite smaller than the guy you were interested in.

But his presence definitely made up for it.

‘Alfred has transferred here a few months ago and he is already a blessing for this community’ commented your father cheerfully, meanwhile Alfred looked at extreme unease, although he tried to keep his gaze tight and set on your family ‘… he took after his brother, Aethelred’.

‘God might bless his soul’ commented tightly your mother as she did the cross sign, and you repeated it to have something to do with your fidgety hands.

Alfred’s gaze was definitely getting to you, although he didn’t seem to consider you in the slightest, till your mother started listing your qualities.

“… it’s good not to be the only new one in town’ tried to comment Alfred, offering you a hand that you accepted only for your father’s harsh glare in your way.

‘I am not a newbie, I was born here’ you shot back, seeing a surprised light appear in his face, although you hadn’t expected the smartass smirk he shot your way, smirking tightly at you, as you felt again that pleasurable shiver go down your spine.

Immediately caught by the mention of Alfred’s wife being brought up in the conversation.

“She hasn’t come in the city, yet, has she?” asked tightly your mother, as if it personally offended her, that the woman hadn’t deigned them worthy of meeting her.

“She hasn’t sadly” Alfred commented, although he didn’t look in the slightest like a sad husband “… the countryside is more her thing and she is trying to get everything ready for her to move in here”.

“We hope to see her soon” cut in your father, making you let out a relieved breath, but your mother tagged back, as she pushed you even more forward “… in the meanwhile if you ever need an help with the children, you might ask my daughter, (Y/N), you know she isn’t doing much these days…”.

“I’ll think about it” his reply was accompanied with a curt nod.

Which you thought was the gentle way of saying ‘mind your own business’.

But you still found yourself pushed inside of his house, after he had been called last minute for one thing at work, and he had been constantly moving around as he tried to tidy up the house, although it wasn’t in the slightest messy, and he kept apologizing to you for the short notice.

‘Don’t worry, Mr. York’ you had simply mumbled ‘… as my mother always has to point out, I don’t have much to do’.

You hadn’t even thought he’d hear you, but he seemed to as he raised his eyes to face you, with an almost incredulous look on his face, before he ducked it lightly.

‘… sorry’.

‘Don’t worry, I am used to it’ you had mumbled back, before moving to present yourself to the children, playing a bit with Aethelflaed and her dolls, as you kept an eye on the sleeping baby Edward, meanwhile Alfred got himself ready.

Eventually Alfred reappeared to give some more instructions, but your eyes immediately linked themselves to the elegant suit he was wearing, highlighting his slim body in a way that made you definitely feel things that you shouldn’t have thought in a child’s room.

So, you tried your best to avoid any dirty thought, meanwhile he told you where you could find some food and what was his number, before saluting his children with such a sweetness that you didn’t think he owned in that thigh-wound body.

The night was uneventful: Alfred’s children were well-behaved, the type that fell asleep naturally at 9 p.m. without any need for threats or praises, although Aethelflaed tried to make you indulge in a few more stories, before she was ready to finally sleep a bit, something that almost made you like the thought of more babysitting.

And Alfred’s eyes did the rest.

Soon you were a constant appearance in the house, not only when Alfred needed you, because he’d have some work things to attent, but also when he was in the house, as an help to him, meanwhile his wife was away, since life with two children could be quite difficult.

Even more when one of the two had severe health issues.

One night, Alfred was unable to sleep because of Edward’s condition, since he hadn’t slept comfortably and his breathing was unstable, although the doctor had said it wasn’t anything to worry about.

But Alfred insisted on checking him constantly.

An on your part, you were supposed to actually leave to go back home, but you didn’t feel like it.

Although you hadn’t had many shared moments, since Alfred was a man of few words, you felt like there was a strange understanding between you two.

Not to talk about a blooming attraction.

And his eyes spoke of needing you right now.

You could see in the way his eyes would follow you around the eyes, although they’d always be off of you before you could catch him, in a cat and mouse game that got you quite hot and heavy.

You knew it was wrong.

He was older.

He was married.

And he had children.

You were his babysitter, for God’s sake!

But at the same time, it just felt like the most fun you had had in years.

You were meant to leave that night, but Alfred had muttered, when he had sensed your indecision.

‘Do you have time for a drink?’.

‘I didn’t think that you had anything remotely alcoholic in this house’ you shot back, unable to stop your big mouth in pushing out a light smirk, as Alfred moved to reprimand you, softly, a light teasing in his eyes.

‘Should I be worried that my babysitter goes around the house, sticking her nose in my business’ he inquired as he got a huge bottle of red wine from a compartment in the kitchen you hadn’t noticed.

‘I don’t’ you lied, because you had actually put your nose in his room, just to understand what kind of heavenly perfume he wore, and yet your hands had found its way in his shirts wardrobe, caressing the softness of the material ‘… but I don’t think that I find anything that is even remotely scandalous in this house’.

‘You are the most scandalous thing’ and that had made you choke on the glass of wine you had been trying to gulp down in the most seductive way you knew ‘… you seriously thought that I wouldn’t have noticed it’.

‘What’ you had tried to assume a straighter pose ‘… what do you mean’.

He had smiled under the glass of wine, an enigmatic minute that had left you breathless.

‘You seriously thought I wouldn’t notice the way you look at me and rub your pretty thighs together”.

“You are a fucking pervert” you had replied tightly, trying to move away, but he gently grabbed your hand, enough to make you stop in your track.

“I might be one but believe me…” and he suddenly had been right in front of you “… you won’t stop this ‘fucking pervert’ from kissing you”.

And you hadn’t,

You hadn’t stopped him, neither, when he had undressed you, as he lowered between your legs, giving you what many fellow agemates had never given to you.

Pure ecstasy.

And from there it went downward.

You stayed over at Alfred’s, under the lie that Alfred had asked you to help him care for his children.

Your parents were unassuming of what was truly going on, they were just happy that you were finally able to smile again so brightly and had a purpose.

Nobody thought that after the children were asleep, you’d share a bed with Alfred.

And much more.

You were starting to develop feelings for Alfred.

He listened to you, without assuming that you were a simply lazy girl.

He understood your fears for your future, and he pushed you to give your best, suggesting a few solutions, even suggesting on him saying ‘a little prayer for you’.

‘… oh Gosh, aren’t you cheesy?’ you always teased him, just to see him blush, as you sneaked a soft kiss on his neck.

You shared the fact that you had always lived a life that you hadn’t wanted to live.

And it brought you closer.

Enough that to you, you were together, almost as a couple.

And the day Aelswith came back…

… it was a shock.

You waltzed inside, having a copy of the key, ready to play a bit with Aethelflaed, but there was a ‘stranger’ in the kitchen.

The woman who stood next to Alfred in the photo on his bedside table.

His wife.

Although she tried her best to appear as if she wasn’t surprised by your presence, she still shot you a harsh glare as you were simply able to mutter ‘I am the babysitter’.

‘Oh yeah’ she mumbled tightly, almost as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth ‘… we won’t need you anymore, sweetheart’.

‘But… but… Alfred’ you tried to blabber, and she simply came closer to you, grabbing the keys in your hands and turning you towards the door.

‘… don’t think that you are anything special or the first one’ she spoke in your ear, before pushing you outside.

It had then taken an entire week for you to bring yourself to meet with Alfred, and by then Aelswith’s words had just hit you too deep.

And you had reasoned with your crazy infatuation with Alfred.

He tried to attack you with the big words, he looked positively sad and when he was about to drop the ‘l-bomb’, you shut him up.

“Please don’t say you love me” it burned on your tongue as everything in you ached to instead let him go on “… it wasn’t my fairytale to start with”.

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