#Battle of Aylesbury

[lord-aldhelm]

WIP Wednesday

No one tagged me this time and I almost forgot about this!! Another week, another tag game! Please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea!

So for this WIP Wednesday, I am going to do something a little different! I am going to post the entire most recent chapter of my WIP. I really love how this turned out, and wanted to share the whole thing. It kind of works well as its own little standalone ficlet.

From my latest Aldflaed WIP (that does not have a title yet)

Background Context: This takes place in early Season 2. King Ceolwulf II has just passed away, and Lord Aethelred was installed as the new Lord of Mercia. He is taking charge of moving the household from the old capital of Tameworthig (Tamworth) to Aegelesburg (Aylesbury). Aldhelm has just been promoted to captain of the guard, and is having a hard time gaining the respect of his new subordinates...

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Chapter after the cut below:

Aldhelm left the peace and solitude of the forest, feeling energized and enlightened. But it was not to last. Before he even entered the castle gate, he heard shouting and the sounds of things breaking. He drew his sword and ran into the courtyard, expecting the worst, but to his dismay and somewhat relief found it was just the guards being rowdy. The previous captain had already been dismissed, given an early retirement and a gift of land in the western part of Mercia. In that short time, the guards were taking advantage of being leaderless, or so they thought. Many held horns of ale as they stood in the street, yelling and laughing, and some of them were even causing destruction to property. Others sparred recklessly in the sides of the courtyard, and some others were harassing women who were trying to go about their business. Apparently, they were bored and restless, having nothing to do as the castle was being packed up.

He had never known the guards to be so unruly before, but they seemed to be taking advantage of the change in leadership to relieve some stress. And also, quite clearly, to test him. Although he had already been acknowledged as their captain, and had made a point to introduce himself to them, they did not take him seriously. He needed to make a forceful impression on them so they knew he meant business. He was already used to the role of advisor and king’s right-hand man, but he had to adjust to his new role as captain of the guard.

He was a decent warrior, having been highly trained in skills of sword and shield, axe and spear. He mastered every skill given to him with ease, and was a fast learner; however, he detested fighting. He would much rather fight his battles with a quill than a sword. But Aldhelm had a special talent for battle tactics, and it made sense to have a strategist like him in the lead of the army. So, he accepted it without complaint. And now he needed to bring them in line, and he knew he only had the one chance or else they would never respect him as their captain. He sighed, realizing that his leisurely strolls in the woods were now a thing of the past, no matter where they lived. His life was going to get busier and more complicated than he anticipated.

He sheathed his sword and casually strode in through the front gate. The guards saw him enter but paid him no mind, and continued their raucous merrymaking. They were not at all threatened by the tall, lithe man with no real battle experience. He remained calm and complacent, which was difficult considering the circumstances. Were the guards so undisciplined that they could not go a day without their captain bearing down on them? That would need to change. He continued to saunter seemingly unbothered through the middle of the courtyard, glancing over the scene before him to pick out the worst offender. Without breaking his stride, he unsheathed his sword again, and smacked the loudest man with the broad side of his sword.

It might as well have been a honeybee stinging a boar; the man was much larger and heavier than him by nearly double, and built like a brown bear with thick corded muscles and a broad barrel chest. He had clearly seen many battles, and was covered in scars. The man turned around to confront his attacker, but when he saw Aldhelm, he gave pause. Aldhelm could see some semblance of thought forming behind the man’s dull grey eyes, and let him think about his next action before he continued. The battle-worn guard, rather than getting angry, started to laugh. The rest of the guard looked on, not knowing what to do, but eventually they joined in and laughed as well. Aldhelm smirked and tilted his head slightly, knowing he was the butt of the joke but let them have their little moment of jest.

“I seem to have interrupted quite a party here,” Aldhelm said, standing firm and confident in the face of real danger. As he spoke, the laughter stopped. “But it is time now for you to clean up this mess you have made.” He gestured broadly with the point of his sword to the broken bits of wood and other debris that littered the walkway in the courtyard. The burly man just laughed in his face, completely unbothered by the weaker man making unreasonable demands of him, and turned to walk away and continue his wanton destruction.

Aldhelm was undeterred. “Since you are all clearly bored, and in need of something to do, why don’t we have a training session.” His soft steady voice barely carried across the courtyard, but the big man heard him.

His head turned to once again face Aldhelm. “You? Train me?” His eyes darted up and down across Aldhelm. “What a joke.”

Aldhelm rested his blade against his shoulder in a cocksure manner. “You are right. It would not be a fair fight. I will ask one of the other guards to spar with me instead. Someone who will actually be a challenge for me.”

“Little twig, I don’t know how you ended up being the captain, but you had best go home now, unless you want me to snap you in half!” the burly man announced. When Aldhelm made no indication that he would leave, he continued. “Look, we all know that I should be the captain. I was second in command, and was promised a promotion. Now, why don’t you do us all a favor, and go back inside the castle, and tell the king that a mistake was made, and that Wulfstan is the new captain of the guard.”

A chilling smile spread across Aldhelm’s face as he unpinned his brooch. He removed his cloak and gently set it on a stone bench nearby, and picked up one of the shields that had been callously dropped on the ground. “You can certainly have the role of captain, if you defeat me in single combat.”

“Little lordling, I will not be held responsible for your death,” Wulfstan replied gruffly. “You want the title, fine, you can have it, in name only. But you step aside and let me lead the men in real battle.”

The smile vanished from Aldhelm’s face, and his fierce green eyes were set in a cold, hard, unwavering glare at Wulfstan. “Draw your sword and face me. I will not ask again.”

Wulfstan decided to humor him. He nonchalantly picked up his shield, and pulled his short-sword from the scabbard. He had no time to react before Aldhelm struck without warning, raining powerful blows onto his shield. Wulfstan was shocked at how strong he was; he was taken off balance and pushed backwards before he was able to stabilize and defend himself properly. He managed to get an offensive swing at Aldhelm but made no contact; Aldhelm had anticipated the move and leapt backwards, leaving Wulfstan to swing at empty air. Aldhelm charged forward again, and made contact with Wulfstan’s armor, leaving deep cuts in his leather bracer and severing a few links of chainmail on his left arm. Wulfstan realized that Aldhelm meant business, and began to take the fight seriously. If the scrawny man died, so be it. He had an entire army as witness of his attack, and would be justified.

Wulfstan charged at Aldhelm, sword held high, and swung hard at his head. But as before, he never made contact; Aldhelm was far too fast for him, and had already leaned backwards, avoiding the blow. In response, Aldhelm circled around to his right side and struck again, and managed to get a slice into his right shoulder pad. Wulfstan swung his sword out at him, but again, Aldhelm had already leapt back, avoiding the sword. By this point, the rest of the guard had already formed a square around the dueling pair, and were watching intently. They could not believe that a skinny weakling was able to fight the man they thought of as their best warrior. They watched with baited breath, hoping that Wulfstan would put an end to the silly battle, and retain his honor. But as the duel continued, they realized that their leader was actually being bested by him, to their disbelief.

Aldhelm seemed to anticipate the advances of Wulfstan with eerie accuracy, and always managed to avoid his blows. It was like he could see into the future. But what they didn’t know is that Aldhelm had spent many hours watching the guards spar in the courtyard and training grounds, and knew all of Wulfstan’s typical moves. What they also did not know was that Aldhelm was formally trained by Ceadda, the previous captain. He had also received combat training during his time in Rome, and was deceptively strong for his stature. People tended to underestimate Aldhelm, which he used to his advantage, and this time was no different.

Wulfstan was starting to escalate, while Aldhelm stayed calm and composed. In his fury, Wulfstan charged at Aldhelm and their blades met with a loud metallic clang. The bigger man pressed down on Aldhelm, and his blade snaked along Aldhelm’s down to the hilt. At that moment, Aldhelm raised his shield and hit Wulfstan hard with the edge of it, straight into his temple. The burly man stumbled backward, dropping his own shield in the process. Blood ran down his face and into his eye, temporarily blinding him on one side. While he was stunned, Aldhelm rammed hard into him, knocking him down onto the ground. As Wulfstan’s blurred vision came into focus, he saw Aldhelm standing over him, his sword pointed at his chest.

“Do you yield?” Aldhelm said softly. The burly man raised his hands, and nodded. Aldhelm withdrew his sword, and as he did, Wulfstan staggered to his feet. His angry glare met Aldhelm’s cool one. He could not believe this willowy man defeated him at swordfighting. The rest of the guard started shouting epithets at Aldhelm, briefly drawing his attention to them. He half expected one of the other guards to charge at him in defense of their fallen leader. However, it was Wulfstan who made the next move. He drew his seax, and while Aldhelm was distracted, charged at him full force. Aldhelm saw the movement in his peripheral field of vision, and reacted quickly. At the last second Aldhelm raised his shield, blocking the attack. The seax was plunged deep into the shield, splitting it, and almost making contact with his face. He rotated his arm so that the blade was deflected away from his face, but in the process, it had grazed him just to the side of his right eye.

Aldhelm put his full force into his shield, twisting it and forcing it away from himself and into Wulfstan. The seax, still embedded in the broken shield, was wrenched from Wulfstan’s hand and tossed onto the ground. Wulfstan grabbed the shield fragment from the ground, and struggled to pry the seax loose, holding the shield with his right hand and using his left to free the blade. Before Wulfstan could use it, Aldhelm had raised his sword and struck the unarmed man with a devastating blow that penetrated a weak point in his armor just below the elbow of his left arm. A major artery had been severed, and blood gushed out of the wound. Wulfstan dropped the seax and fell to his knees, his right hand squeezing his left elbow to stop the bleeding. Aldhelm swung his sword swiftly around to point directly at his throat, and once again, calmly asked, “Do you yield?” Wulfstan’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, and he relented this time.

“Yes, Lord,” he said weakly, shaking uncontrollably. He was starting to lose a lot of blood, and would surely die. Aldhelm sheathed his sword and grabbed his cloak, using it to place a tourniquet on Wulfstan’s injured arm.

He stood and glanced at one of the horrified guards still standing in a square. “You,” he said, making eye contact with one, “bring me something to cauterize this wound.” When he didn’t move, Aldhelm emphasized, “Now!” and the young guard ran off to the nearby blacksmith, and returned with a metal bar, still red hot at the tip. Aldhelm removed the cloak and pressed the glowing end of the bar into the wound. The big man screamed in pain, and the acrid smell of burning flesh and smoke filled the air. But, the bleeding was stopped. Aldhelm rewrapped his elbow with a clean section of the cloak. He ordered another guard to notify the priests, who would be needed to tend to his wounds and nurse him back to health after his severe injury.

Once Wulfstan was carried away by the priests to recover, Aldhelm addressed the rest of the guard. “Does anyone else wish to challenge me?” No one said a single word. They were shocked and impressed by not only how deceptively strong a fighter he was, but by the mercy he showed Wulfstan. Wulfstan had committed treason, humiliated his master, and attempted to murder the new captain. He should have been executed on the spot for his crimes, or allowed to bleed to death where he lay. But Aldhelm showed him compassion, and tended to his wounds instead, saving his life. They all looked at their new captain with awe and reverence, and knew that this man was someone they would follow to the ends of the earth.

* * *

No Pressure Tags: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @gemini-mama @thenameswinter99 @alexagirlie @synintheraven @garunsdottir @thelettersfromnoone @aegonx @itbmojojoejo and whoever else wants to do it!

[usnewsrank]

Ex-ambassador sues surrogate to make her leave his £15m home

Ex-ambassador sues surrogate to make her leave his £15m home

Wotton House, near Aylesbury, which is at the centre of High Court battle between David Gladstone and Leigh White (Picture: Champion News) A retired ambassador is suing the woman he called his surrogate daughter – to get her out of a £15million mansion she claims he promised to leave her. Multi-millionaire David Gladstone, 87 – a descendant of Victorian prime minister WE Gladstone – moved out of…

[bronva]

Ex-ambassador sues surrogate to make her leave his £15m home

Ex-ambassador sues surrogate to make her leave his £15m home

Wotton House, near Aylesbury, which is at the centre of High Court battle between David Gladstone and Leigh White (Picture: Champion News) A retired ambassador is suing the woman he called his surrogate daughter – to get her out of a £15million mansion she claims he promised to leave her. Multi-millionaire David Gladstone, 87 – a descendant of Victorian prime minister WE Gladstone – moved out of…

[persephones-journey]

Finan’s Plan

So here’s a little story I wrote in about, three hours, based on a post by @morosemagick stating that Osferth faked his death to escape the women of Rumcofa that he, well, probably made very very happy *wink wink*.  

But of course, I had to drag in Finan, Sihtric, and Uhtred along for the ride. With an appearance by Aethelstan as well. 

So, without further ado,  onwards with the story. 

Finan’s Plan

Looking back, Osferth should not have listened to Finan.

Uhtred had been joking when he suggested, quite drunkenly after they had all returned from Aylesbury and Lady Aethelflaed's burial, that Osferth would have to fake his death and change his name to gain peace from the women fighting over him in Rumcofa. Osferth had nodded and laughed along with his lord.

Finan, however, being Finan had formed a plan.

A plan that had ended in Osferth being 'dead' and 'buried' in Winchester.

When in reality he was actually sitting in the familiar surroundings of Cookham, annoyed and oh so very angry at ever listening to his Irish friend.

“I cannot believe he talked me into this,” Osferth muttered again as he sat in the old hall that he had spent so many hours in with Lady Gisela.

Hindsight of course told Osferth he should have known the Irishman was up to something. Finan having a plan was nothing new but, when Finan got a plan that he believed was the best plan in the whole history of plans, that was when things got a bit carried away.

When Finan had first mentioned that perhaps, just maybe this time Uhtred was right, Osferth had laughed. After all, they had been following Uhtred for years; decades. Uhtred being right about anything rarely happened on the first try and if it did, it usually ended with some stupid plan that would almost certainly lead to them having a battle where they almost died. Or did die, depending on just how stupid and crazy Uhtred was aiming for that day.

But true to form, Finan was determined for Osferth to see that their lord was right. It would solve everyone's problem. Granted, Osferth did not understand why Finan believed that these women fighting over Osferth caused anyone other than Osferth problems. Osferth remembered every time Finan and Uhtred were called on to pull the women apart, both had been laughing and making jokes. Osferth was the one who was constantly embarrassed by it and harassed by the others. Even Aethelstan had taken to making snide remarks and jokes at Osferth's expense; no doubt jokes and remarks he learned from Finan.

The first plan had been simple and straightforward.

“You go out to face the raiders and just disappear,” Finan said. “Your body isn't found and after a few months you come back with a beard and bald head.”

“Why do I need to have a bald head?” Osferth mused. Giving in and letting Finan voice his crazy plans was the quickest way to get the pain over with. And some times, if Finan was drunk enough, he would not even remember the plans he had laid out the next morning.

Granted since getting married, Finan had rarely gotten drunk. Much to the annoyance of the rest of them who now had to hear about Finan's plans the morning after a visit to the alehouse.

“So no one recognizes you,” Finan said. He gave Osferth a look that Osferth knew well; it was his patten 'seriously? You need to ask' look.

“Okay, let's say, I get drunk enough to agree to this-.”

“You're already halfway there, baby monk.”

“Where exactly would I hide out for months without anyone knowing who I am?”

That question had, mercifully quieted the Irishman. But only for a few minutes. Finan had smiled and snapped his fingers and Osferth knew that he had figured it all out; God be with him.

“Cookham,” was all Finan said.

“Cookham?”

“Cookham,” Finan smiled then, “unless of course you left behind some angry ladies there as well.”

Osferth had not commented on that. And now, Osferth wished that he had agreed there to that plan. That plan had been simple and easy.

The next one was not.

“You need to be dead. Like visibly dead and we have to mourn you,” Finan said the next time they had been together.

It had been over the body of Edward's dead wife and honestly, Osferth thought that the conversation had been both fitting and disrespectful all at once.

“Mourn me?”

“Aye, Sihtric, Uhtred, myself and even the bastard have to mourn you. It's the only way to convince everyone you are all dead. After all, no one is going to believe you're in heaven if the rest of us are walking around carrying on with our lives like nothing happened.”

That should have been the moment Osferth told Finan to stop. That the plan was horrible and even borderline cruel. Osferth should have found his voice. He had been getting better at standing up for himself. He had too. He had wanted to set a good example for Aethelstan. He had wanted to show the boy that one did not always need to follow orders and that speaking up at times could be a good thing.

So why the hell had he not spoken up in that moment?

Osferth had no clue.

Maybe it was because Finan had been the one to take Osferth under his wing. He had shown Osferth how to fight, how to hunt, hell Finan had practically drawn Osferth a map on how to pleasure a woman, so of course Osferth was willing to listen to him. Of course Osferth was willing to let Finan talk.

But then those men had shown up. And there had been an actual battle in the very streets of Rumcofa.

And Osferth had been injured. Severely injured. Finan had actually thought him dead. Had announced him as such.

Until Osferth had sat up and moaned in the cart and nearly caused Finan's wife, Ingrith to have a heart attack and die on the spot.

Her screams had brought Finan to the cart. And Finan had laughed and laughed. Until he had cried and hugged Osferth close.

“Ow,” Osferth said.

“You're okay, baby monk, I knew you wouldn't die on me.”

“You have me in the cart with the dead bodies headed to Winchester. I think you thought me dead.”

“No, I knew you were just going through with the plan we had.”

“I was not. I thought myself dead.”

“Finan, get him out of the cart and patch him up,” Ingrith said clearly annoyed by this whole mess.

“I will patch him up but he is not getting out of the cart. You're going to drop him in Cookham.”

“Finan,” both Osferth and Ingrith had said. They were the only two who could say Finan's name with such annoyance and exasperation.

“It will work. Trust me.”

Trust him. Trusting him had left Osferth in Cookham for weeks.

Weeks sitting around wondering just exactly what trouble his band of friends were getting into. And if all of them were still alive.

“Let them be alive,” Osferth said. “Especially Finan. So I can have the pleasure of killing him myself.”

Osferth sighed. He stood and was about to walk to the alehouse to drink his sorrows away. He stopped when he heard people announce riders. He then heard the cheers. He turned and walked towards the gates. He stood in the middle of the street and waited.

The first rider was Finan. He looked around and then stopped his horse when he saw Osferth standing there in the middle of the street.

“Baby monk!” he yelled.

“What?” Sihtric said as he rode his horse up behind Finan.

Osferth pulled down the cloak's hood and looked at them. Sihtric was astonished; meaning Finan had decidedly not told him or anyone else that Osferth still lived and breathed.

“You're alive!” Finan laughed as he dismounted his horse and walked over to Osferth.

“I am,” Osferth said softly.

“How is he alive, Finan? You told us he died.”

Osferth looked at Sihtric. “He had a plan.”

The curses that fell from Sihtric's lips were very impressive. Osferth smiled. Sihtric dismounted as well and walked over to Osferth. Osferth hugged the Dane and pointedly ignored Finan.

“What? No hug for me the one who solved all your women issues.”

“And created the I am now dead issue.”

Sihtric shook his head and let go of Osferth. “He let Uhtred and I think you were dead. We retook Bebbanburg. Uhtred is there right now with Aethelstan waiting for us to return with our families.”

Osferth looked at Finan. “You still have not told the lord?”

Finan shrugged. “Seeing is believing.”

“I need a drink,” Sihtric and Osferth answered at once.

“What? Was it something I said?” Finan called after them.

They had ended up in the alehouse drinking until dawn. Sihtric and Finan had regaled Osferth with everything he had missed. Osferth was not sad to have missed the climbing of the cliff around the castle.

“And lord's crazy plan right,” Osferth said.

“Nope, Finan's,” Sihtric said. “And then he almost died.”

Osferth gave Finan a look. A look Finan had called 'Baby monk's pissy face'. “You almost died. If you would have died, no one would have known I was actually still alive.”

Finan shrugged and took another swig of his ale. “Well, looks like God was favouring you after all.”

Osferth wished he had not drunk as much ale as he had so he could swipe that smug look off of Finan's face. Sihtric looked between the two of them.

“I had missed this,” he said.

Osferth had as well.

They left Cookham two days later bleary eyed and very much still drunk. It brought back bittersweet memories of the many times before they had ridden from Cookham drunk or hungover laughing. Osferth would miss the town but he also wouldn't. It had been his home for years but now without Lord Uhtred or Lady Gisela, the place did not feel like home any longer.

Home was where his family was and that was Bebbanburg now.

They first rode to Winchester to pick up Sihtric's wife and children along with Finan's wife. Osferth eyed the cart full of children and was sure that Sihtric had gained a child since he had last seen the brood in Rumcofa but he was not about to ask if he was right or not. Finan also had to deliver a letter from Lady Aelswith to Edward.

Osferth was not ashamed to say that he avoided Edward like the plague after Finan had mentioned that Uhtred had told the king of his half-brother's death. That was one person Osferth was fine with still believing he was dead and gone.

After that they were on their way to Bebbanburg. Osferth could not remember laughing as much as he did on that journey or the joy he felt being with his people again.

The journey was long and it took a couple of weeks. Thankfully the weather held up for the most part and they were riding up to Bebbanburg nice and dry with the sun setting as they made their final approach.

“Shouldn't you ride ahead and tell Uhtred what you did?” Sihtric asked Finan.

Finan shook his head. “Not a chance. I am riding in with baby monk so that Uhtred will be so happy that Osferth isn't dead, he completely forgets my part in the whole thing.”

Osferth snorted. “So another plan than?”

Finan was silent. Osferth looked up at the large gate as they rode closer. He remembered the last time he had seen this place. They had fled in defeat and without Father Beocca. And he had earned a broken arm in the storm that had crashed their boat into the rocks further down the coast. He was very happy to be riding a horse into the gates and not having to be on a boat in the sea.

Osferth rode into the courtyard and smiled. He saw Aethelstan standing on the steps looking down. The boy looked at him in shock and then ran down the steps to greet him.

“Uncle Osferth!” he yelled.

Osferth dismounted and hugged him. Aethelstan had not called him uncle in some years but it was nice to hear it again. He pulled away and saw some scars on the boy's face. He patted his cheek.

“I hear you fought hard and at Uhtred's side to reclaim this castle,” Osferth said.

“I did,” Aethelstan said. “And I heard you were dead.”

Osferth sighed. “Remember when you were younger and I warned you never to let Finan talk you into anything?”

“Yes.”

“This, my supposed death, is why I told you that. I apparently failed to heed my own advice though.”

Aethelstan smiled and laughed. Osferth turned and saw Uhtred walk down the stairs from the walkway around the walls of the castle. Uhtred turned and skidded to a stop when he saw Osferth standing there. Finan walked over to him.

“He is not a ghost,” Finan said.

“Then how-,” Uhtred stopped. He turned and looked at the Irishman. “Why do I get the feeling this was all you?”

Finan smiled that damn smile that Osferth knew made women weak in the knees. It was charming, disarming, and at this very moment oh so endearing after Osferth had not seen it for weeks.

“Actually lord, this one was your idea.”

Uhtred frowned. “I was joking.”

“But it was a good plan. You know me, I cannot let a good plan go to waste.”

Osferth walked over to Uhtred and hugged him. “It is good to see you, lord.”

Uhtred held him tight. “Good to see you as well, Osferth.”

“See? Everything is right again. And now we have a castle.”

Osferth and Uhtred both looked at Finan. They then looked at each other.

“You could have said no,” Uhtred said.

“Lord, you have tried saying no to Finan. It does not go well.”

“No, baby monk, it does not.”

Finan sighed. “I am never appreciated around here.”

Osferth ignored him. “I hear Lady Aelswith is staying with you.”

Uhtred sighed. “She is. Perhaps you could pretend to be dead a little longer and haunt her away?”

Before Osferth could answer, Finan wrapped his arms around both his and Uhtred's shoulders.

“I have a plan,” he said.

Osferth groaned as everyone laughed.

This time, he was saying no.

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 2

A/N: anything in italics is either inner monologue or reminiscing. Please let me know if you’re enjoying the story and might like to be on my taglist. You can read the prequel one-shot and chapter 1 if you wish.

Warnings: None for this chapter (I think)

Word Count: 2253

Pairing: Sihtric x OC

The sun beat down on the company as they traveled along the road.  The plan was to travel to Ceaster where, with luck, Aethelflaed would be waiting.  Uhtred and the Lady of Mercia had discussed contingency plans of retreating there should tensions in Mercia boil over.  

Cwen rode along beside Osferth who drove the cart containing their meager supplies and the children.  She knew Ealfwin was feeling scared and worried for her mother.  The young girl was a gentle and sensitive creature.  She spent her days playing with dolls or with her little birds.  

In many ways, Ealfwin reminded Cwen of her mother as a child.  Aethelflaed had grown into an independent and smart woman.  But at Ealfwin’s age, while she was intelligent, Aethelflaed’s head was full of dreaming.  Mainly dreams full of romance and love.  It made Cwen sad that her friend’s spirit had had those dreams dashed and torn from her with her marriage to Aethelred.  

Aethelflaed was keenly aware of her daughter’s disposition and she fought to protect that innocence as long as she could. It was a hard balance to find. Preparing your child for harsh truths and realities. Giving them the skill and knowledge to deal with those truths head on while still allowing them their innocence. 

But in this moment, Cwen wondered if the young girl was too sheltered, too naive.  

Cwen always strived to be truthful and realistic with Ealfwin.  She had been through too much and known Aethelflaed to have gone through too much to deny the child that kindness. 

Cwen could hear Stiorra chiding Ealfwin from the back of the cart. She also heard Young Uhtred defending her. 

Give her a few minutes and then I will check on her, Cwen thought. See if Stiorra’s words altered Ealfwin’s weepy state.  Cwen did not aim to be dismissive or cruel. But she did want to avoid swooping in to rescue the girl from those harsh words. Harsh words are everywhere and a woman must learn to stand up to them. 

Cwen’s thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a rider approaching. She felt her heart flutter in her chest and she rode back to her beside Ealfwin. Harsh words from a companion were one thing. Unknown dangers and unknown riders were a different story. 

The rider was a woman. Cwen recognized her and had to suppress a shudder. Instead she turned her eyes to find Sihtric. 

He gallops past the group to crest the hill where Eadith had just appeared. That was her name. Eadith. Sister to Eardwulf. 

As Sihtric galloped back to the front of their party, his eyes met Cwen’s. Too fast for her to read anything from them. But they still met and she felt a calm come over her. 

“I will be right back. Stay in the cart with Aethelstan.” Cwen’s words were soothing but firm. Ealfwin nodded her understanding while shifting to have a better view of the front of the cart. 

When Cwen cantered forward she positioned herself next to Sihtric. Her eyes met Uhtred’s. What information does Eadith bring?

“The Lady Aethelflaed has fled Aylesbury. She bid me find you and tell you she wishes you to meet her at the ruins of St. Millburgs Priory.”

“Did your brother send you?” Cwen askes. 

At her interjection, both Uhtred and Eadith glance at her. 

“No. He does not know I am here. My brother imprisoned Lady Aethelflaed but I helped her escape.” Eadith said while shifting her eyes back to Uhtred. 

“Why should I believe you?”

“I do not lie,” Eadith quipped as if those words should serve as a convincing argument. 

“Then how did you know where to find us?” Uhtred asked.

“The Lady told me you had spoken of traveling to Ceaster. I was to find you and bid you meet her at the ruins.”

Young Uhtred spoke up, “St. Milburg’s is on the way to Wenloca and we have passed it.”

“It could be a trick to divert us,” Finan added. 

At this, Eadith expressed her frustration, “I have done what I promised. You can choose to believe it or not,” she finished with a sigh. 

“Where will you go?” Uhtred asks her. 

“I have family in Frankia”

“If you wish to board a ship to Frankia, you must ride inland with us. It is not safe on the road alone. And,” Uhtred spoke aside to his men, “then at least if she lies she will be under our control.”

Cwen was taken aback when Eadith spat back at Uhtred, “I am sick of being controlled.”

Perhaps her brother has not made her life easy either, Cwen thought to herself. She was keenly aware of how Eardwulf exerted control and power.  

Cwen took a shuddering breath and refocused her attention on the conversation. 

She did not notice Sihtric glance at her from across his saddle. 

“Cwen, you know Aethelflaed well.  I am of one mind, but would hear your thoughts,” Uhtred asked.

Cwen looked askance at Eadith before giving her answer.

“The sooner we can get mother and daughter reunited the better.  We both know that Aldhelm would do this for Aethelflaed.  And my instinct tells me Eadith speaks the truth.” 

“Lord,” Finan interjected, “We should not do this.  If she found us, so can they.”

Uhtred thinks on Cwen and Finan’s words for a moment.

Raising his head to meet Eadith’s eyes once more, “Are you good with children?”

“Not really.” She replied.

“Good, neither are we. Well except for Cwen here,” Uhtred inclined his head to indicate Cwen.

“We go back,” he said with finality.

Rather than travel alone, the lady Eadith joined their caravan.

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

A few hours later found the companions ambling along a wooded path.  Ealfwin was resting in the cart while Aethelstan and Uhtred’s children shared pieces of stale bread. 

Sihtric dropped back from riding next to Finan to be beside Cwen. 

“Do you need some bread, lady?” He offered. 

“I am no lady, Sihtric. Must I always remind you of that?” Cwen smiled over to Sihtric good naturedly. It had become a game now between them. 

Sihtric chuckled lightly, “take some bread, Cwen.”

“I will, thank you,” Cwen said while reaching for the stale lump he offered. 

“Be careful, Cwen,” Osferth interjected. “That bread will crack a tooth. Best to let it sit in your mouth for a bit before you chew it.”

The three laughed lightly at his jest and then settled into a comfortable silence. 

Cwen enjoyed the forest. She tipped her head up to gaze at the sun breaking through the branches overhead. She allowed herself a large inhale of the musty, earthy aroma then slowly exhaled. 

“You seem at peace in the forest.” Sihtric commented and Cwen turned her face towards him. He sees me, she thought to herself. 

“Your breathing wasn’t so calm on the road.” He spoke the last while turning to face her gaze. 

“You noticed that?” Cwen asked. 

When Sihtric did not answer, “something in our conversation in the road gave me pause. Brought back memories.” Cwen glanced ahead at Eadith. 

Then she added, “and I admit I am anxious about our plan. There are so many unknowns. And I wish Aethelflaed to be alright. And for Ealfwin to be reunited with her mother.”

Sihtric could tell that Cwen was breezing over her demeanor on the road.  Whether it was an effort to avoid talking about it, he did not know.

“I have always found peace in forests.” He offered.

Cwen met Sihtric’s eyes at his admission. She gave him one of those small grins that he loved. 

Sihtric found himself looking for her smiles more and more. 

He had lain awake the previous night after the rest of the camp had fallen asleep thinking about the gentle curves of her lips. He could have drifted to sleep easily imagining her grins directed at him. 

But he couldn’t help replaying their conversation from upstairs at the estate. The knowledge that someone had threatened her, maybe forced themselves on her made his entire body seethe with rage. 

He could stand the horrors of battle and the violence that he faced against enemies in the services of his Lord.  Even if it were women like Skade or Brida.  They chose their paths. Brida was an equal on the battlefield.  Skade played dangerous games and she knew full well that she was playing them. 

But Sihtric could not abide harm to innocents.  Saxon or Dane.  He had witnessed too much in his service to Kjartan.  He did not call the man his father.  He was his mother’s son.  And he knew too well that it was the same violence and violation that Kjartan forced upon his mother that now Sihtric worried had been forced upon Cwen.

He had wiped his hand across his face in frustration and sat up looking for her.  

Across the fire, nestled next to Ealfwin and Aethelstan, Cwen was sleeping.  They were safe for the moment. She was safe. 

Sihtric had risen and relieved Finan of his watch. If he wasn’t able to sleep he may as well let his Irish brother rest. 

A sudden yell and flurry of activity at the rear of the cart brought Sihtric back to the present. 

“Stay near the children,” he ordered Cwen as they both turned their horses to see vagrants trying to steal bread from Stiorra. 

Quick as lightning, Uhtred was by his daughter and the would-be thieves ran towards the front of the cart. 

At almost the same instance, another man appeared hollering that the road was closed. Having gained control of the situation, Finan and Sihtric dismounted to approach the macabre scene blocking the path.

Cwen dismounted her horse to climb onto the cart and check on Ealfwin. 

“It is alright, little bird. They will not let anyone harm you,” she cooed while grasping the young girl's hand. “Nor you, Aethelstan.  These people appear to just be hungry. It is alright.  I am going to see how we will proceed with the road being closed.” 

Cwen waited to see both children nod, then dismounted the cart.

It was then that she heard Finan shout in a panic, “It’s the sickness.  They’re dying of the sickness.”

The next few minutes were a blur of chaos as Finan tried to clean Stiorra’s arm where the brigands had touched her and Uhtred attempted to soothe the warrior.

Cwen stepped up to stand beside Sihtric as he cleaned off his blade.  

“It was a kindness,” he tells her.

Cwen looked down to his bloody knife and then glanced over his shoulder to see the grim display in the road and she understood.

“It was,” she confirms for him.

Then her attention shifted back to hear Uhtred discuss leaving the horses and traveling through the woods.

“The children will not make it on foot,” Sihtric says.  His words were quiet to not alarm anyone.

“Then we find somewhere safe for them,” but Finan’s words are cut off when both Uhtred and Cwen protest.

“We will not leave them behind.”

“They are stronger than you imagine,” Cwen argued. “They are both used to plans changing and to adapting by now.”

“We know that, Cwen,” Uhtred tried to soothe her. “But it will be hard and we do not know what obstacles we may face.  It can be difficult to defend those you hold dear out in the open, no shelter, no place to hide.”

Cwen takes a breath before speaking again. She looks at Finan, Uhtred, and Sihtric in turn.  

Sihtric interrupts her before she can speak again, “I did not mean that the children are not strong and capable.”

“I know Sihtric. But what choice do we actually have now?” She asks, shifting her gaze to rest on Uhtred.

“Cwen is right.  We must continue on foot and through the land to avoid the roads and bad air. It will be alright Finan, we will be safe from the sickness.  And we have no other choice.” Uhtred’s words soothe the big man.  

Both Cwen and Eadith, who had remained quiet during the whole exchange, recognize that the men have faith in their lord.   The two women exchange a glance before Eadith dismounts her horse and they gather their supplies to continue on foot.

“It seems these men have truly found a good lord in Uhtred.  I can see their faith in him,” Eadith comments to Cwen as they are helping the children down off the cart.

Cwen regards her for a moment before replying, “He is a man that other’s trust to follow.  I have known him since I was a child and he has always inspired the trust of others.”

“What a strange thing to find myself in this company,” Eadith then says, more to herself than to Cwen.

“I know you are not used to the company of good men.” Cwen speaks matter of factly without waiting for a response or looking for a reaction. “And these are good men.  All of them.” Cwen finishes the last words while looking across the back of the cart to see Sihtric taking his packs off his horse.  She doesn’t look to Eadith as she walks away to gather Ealfwin and Aethelstan.

And then the companions begin their trek on foot to reach Wenloca.  

Tag list: @morosemagick @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 3

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate.

A/N: Ciao dolcezze! Hope your doing well! I’ve been super busy with my master’s degree but the chapter’s here! Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There’s a lot of Finan here, finally! Have the nicest week! Bacetti, Cate!

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Mention of blood, angst, fluff

Words: 4455 Chapter Two.

Chapter Three: Injures and betrayal

“I will not let you fight this battle, Aoife.” Uthred repeated. Aoife had tried all day long to convince him to let her fight, and even now that they were preparing the horses to leave Aylesbury, she was not desisting. She had pleaded him to the point where she knew she was appearing pathetic, but she wanted to begin her new life as a warrior and that battle was an opportunity for her to prove her strength. She was scared of course, every time she closed her eyes she could see the young Dane she had killed; she wasn’t very sure she liked to kill, but she had spent too much time doing nothing but standing next to Aethelflaed, feeling an intruder in such important manners. And more than that, killing Haesten – or being part of the battle that would eventually kill him – was the only way for her to revenge her Abbess’ death. She was aware that her mind and attitude was quickly changing; she had always had a temper, but she was one for peace and forgiveness; of course, a fight in the nunnery was nothing compared to the siege she had found herself fighting back, but she was still scared of how quickly that dark part of her was emerging and she had to learn how to control it. Not now, though, now she needed that darkness to keep giving her the courage to plead the Dane warrior to bring her into battle. “Lord Uthred, let me fight!” Exasperated, Uthred held her shoulders tight, shaking her just enough to catch her attention and shut her up. “You will listen to me now, woman. You had sworn your sword to Aethelflaed and she’s still in danger. You will prove your value by protecting her. It is and order, have I been clear?” The warriors had left that same evening, bidding their goodbyes to the two women as if they were going for a hunt and not to face death. Finan had smoothly kissed the back of Aoife’s hand before mounting on his horse, and she had felt her cheeks turning red and warm at the contact. He was so confident, Aoife could easily guess that he was experienced with women; he knew the tricks to make a lady fall at his feet. Not that he needed tricks, he was a warrior, a handsome one to say the least; and while his scars promised troubles, his smile could soothe the most turbulent soul. Father Beocca was right, he could well be a prince of the dark and she would follow him to hell without complaints. Standing next to Aethelflaed and Edward, she watched the warriors leave the security of the fortress and disappear in the distance. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see them again, if they would fight together again or if they would just greet her the few times they would meet, until forgetting her name. She was sure she could never forget that weird group of warriors, especially the mysterious prince of the night. That same night, Aoife effectively took on the role of guard of Aethelflaed. At supper time, she was even able to make Steapa smile with her overprotective attitude. The Lady herself cracked a smile and asked her to relax, they were safe there and she should enjoy the food as much as she could; who knew how long it would take before they would taste meat like that again. Aethelflaed then asked for her to wait outside her rooms while she ate and confronted her husband. She was playing with her dagger, sat on a chair, ear pricked and muscles ready to step in if required. In that moment she felt like a true guard. She wondered if Uthred would be proud of her keeping her promise as well as she could. Anyway, she was confident – and again she was being arrogant – she could win over “Lord” Aethelred smoothly, she had subdue braver pigs. She could hear talking, even some commotion, but nothing to be afraid of, and before the moon reached the peak of the sky, the Lord of Mercia had already left the rooms, without acknowledging the presence of the warrior lady against the wall. When they woke up the morning after, they discovered that Alfred had reluctantly accepted to support Uthred in the battle. Aoife was relieved, Alfred’s numbers would increase the chances of success of Uthred’s plan. A plan that she thought was quite stupid: too much was being left to fate and probability, but what did she know? She was just a nun after all. When the day came, Aoife woke up with bad feelings clenching her stomach. She was fearing for the life of Uthred and his men. Aethelflaed had then asked her to get ready to help the injured. She cut pieces of clothes and drawn water from the well all day long, but it had not put her mind to rest. She was spending too much time by herself, thinking of how many men could have already fallen under Danes’ strokes. She had spent most of her monastic life helping the physician of the monastery, growing healing plants, cauterizing wounds and staying next to the dying patients until their last breath, it was not the idea of blood and death to make her hands shake, it was the fear of finding out that her new friends were injured and being unable to save them In the afternoon, she was praying in the chapel when a messenger came. He was bringing a letter from Uthred. The battle had been won, and they were invited to ride to Aethelflaed’s estate, where they would be joined by him and his men. “I’m surprised he knew how to write!” Aoife commented and they laughed, until the laughs became tears, of relief and happiness. In less than an hour, they gathered the horses, belongings and guards and before dawn they left Aylesbury. Aoife couldn’t stop smiling. Saltwic, Mercia Saltwic was a welcoming place. Aoife’s room was right next to Aethelflaed’s, of course. Inside, there was a big, comfortable bed, with a clean chamber pot next to it. There was also a fireplace, with a small wooden tub and a kettle filled with fresh water. She put the kettle on the fire and let the water warm up while she undressed. After the stay in Aylesbury and the ride to Saltwic, her clothes needed to be washed; she, too, was covered in dust and sweat and she sat in the tub for a long time, rubbing her body with a clean cloth until her skin turned red; she took her time to wash her hair and brush it with the small wooden comb she had taken from her room in the nunnery. It made her sad to think of what she had left there: her books, her chessboard, her mother’s doll. However, she smiled thinking about the Abbess, which would have lectured her on the volatility of earthly goods, “All we need – she would have said – is God’s love and mercy.” On the opposite, Sister Aeskel, the physician, would have laughed and hugged her, reassuring her: she would not have the time to read, nor to play chess, living as a warrior, and she was too old to still own a doll. Her belonging would have forever been a remainder of that young girl that had grown up with them and then had left the nest. Only thinking about her, Aoife was happy again. She hoped Aeskel was all right. There was a light knock on the door and Aethelflaed came in without waiting for an answer; she looked happy, almost excited, not at all bothered by Aoife’s nakedness. She, on the opposite, was quickly becoming red from embarrassment. “I have something for you.” the Lady chirped and only then Aoife noticed she was holding something in her arms. “Lady.” she protested “You have to stop buying me gifts, you’ve done enough for a lifetime.” “Oh hush. I noticed that you looked very uncomfortable in my dress and I wanted you to wear something more… appropriate to your role.” she sat on the bed and, with a proud smile, showed her friend what she had brought. They were clothes, as Aoife had already guessed from her words, but not the common clothes of a lady. There were two tunics, one red and one blue, a linen shirt, two pairs of brown trousers and brown shoes. “I asked my seamstresses to have them ready for our arrival” Aethelflaed said “are you happy?” Aoife was at loss of words “Happy? Lady, this is too much!” “It is not.” her friend assured “Also, the blacksmith is working on your warrior clothes, but it is going to take some time. And here” she threw are a small leather bag “your first payment.” Inside the bag there were five pieces of silver, Aoife shook her head vigorously “Lady, this is too much!” and she tried to give the money back. Aethelflaed held her hands, closing Aoife’s fingers around the bag “You have been a great guard and a great friend, Aoife. You deserve all of this and more for risking your life for me. Stop being stubborn and accept my way to say thank you.” For the first time since they had met, Aoife hugged Aethelflaed. There was a stream within walking distance from Aethelflaed’s estate. After two days of doing nothing, Aoife decided that she needed some type of normalcy in her life and, when the sun reached its peak, she walked to the stream, a basket of dirty clothes under her arm. It was a cold winter day, of course, and her hands, dipped in the water, soon turned blue. Nonetheless, she found quite calming to rub the linen on the stones, smoothed by the repetitive movement of the stream. The sun was almost setting when she heard the soft drumming of hooves on snow. And there they were, the men of Cookham, covered in dirt and blood and riding slowly towards Saltwic. There were also prisoners, Danes, who were coughing and stumbling in the white cold ground. Aoife collected the wet clothes in the hamper and run back to the estate. Her heart was beating fast, and she tried to suppress the desire to see the Irishman again. She had thought that being away from him would ease her passion, but she was wrong, and she run faster to reach him, to be sure he was fine. Aethelflaed was already in the hall when Aoife arrived, and invited her to leave the wet clothes to the servants and prepare herself to assist the injured. On her time in Wincelcumb, she had the pleasure to assist Aoife during her working hours in the infirmary. Most of the injured had been nuns who had hurt themselves working, but, once or twice, peasants had come asking for help with more serious injuries. Aethelflaed had watched Aoife cauterize wounds and heal ulcers without flinching. “God guides my hand.” she used to answer to her amazed face. It had been her strength and composure to play a fundamental role in her decision to bring Aoife with her. Aethelflaed watched her sweetly; that and the instant fondness she felt for her. Uthred was the first to enter the hall, followed closely by Sithric and Finan and then by the rest of his men.  Aoife could see that a couple of warriors were missing, but the presents didn’t look injured. They were tired, cold and hungry, however, and Aethelflaed invited them all to sit. Aoife had waited to see the warrior for days and yet, now that he was right in front of her, she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had she done that, she would have found him already watching her fondly, yet tiredly. He had found himself thinking about her, once or twice during the mission. She had been a pleasant surprise from the beginning, and he would be a fool not to be attracted by pretty women. And she was, without doubt, extremely pretty. Seeing her, all busy in her role of healer, with her dark hair back in a braid – single braid for a unmarried woman, her cheeks and nose all red for the cold, he had forgot about more urgent manners. Manners that Uthred spare no time to address. “Osferth is at the alehouse. He’s injured.” Uthred said and before he could even sit down, Aoife had grabbed her cloak and was already running outside. She had grown fond of the monk, and without more information, she could not help but imagine the worst. Was her too late? She hoped not, she had yet to know him well and she did not want to lose a friend, or a potential friend. “Aoife wait!” someone shouted from behind her and she slowed down to let Finan reach her. She didn’t ask him why he followed her, he needed food and to sit near the fire for a while, but she could see how worried he looked. Knowing that he would not rest until Osferth was safe, she let him come her to the alehouse. He showed her the way up the stairs, to the last room down the corridor, one of the few with a door. Aoife tried not to show interest in the unholy events that were taking place in the other rooms but Finan caught her peeking in one of them and couldn’t repress a smile. Such an innocent creature she was. Osferth was laying on the bed, looking more tired than in pain, but probably he was just trying to be strong; the left part of his tunic was covered in blood, most of it dark enough to be dry, some of it a bright red. She needed to stop the bleeding. “Hi Osferth.” she greeted, taking off her cloak and kneeling at his side. She smiled sweetly, as Sister Aeskel had taught her, to appear calm and confident “Do you mind if I take a look at your wound?”. The boy nodded weakly, smiling lightly and she pulled out a knife from under her tunic to cut apart the fabric of his robe; slowly, being it stuck to his skin. The wound was wide but not deep, thank goodness. The bleeding was easy to stop, but she had to carefully clean it to prevent the infection. With a good bandage and some poultice he would be as good as new in no time. She had the kindness to tell him to, patting his cheek as if he was still a young boy. Finan was amused by the interaction, never had he seen Osferth at such ease with someone he had barely met. There was something about that girl that made everyone feel safe in taking their guard down with her. It was a powerful weapon. Only then, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a dress anymore but the clothes of a warrior: tunic, trousers and the belt with weapons around her waist. There was something about masculine clothes around her feminine curves that aroused him greatly and he was more than happy to leave the room when she asked him to fetch some fresh water to clean the wound. “I do not deserve your assistance, lady.” the monk mumbled when they were left alone, his voice was barely audible “I cannot even use a sword.” She was checking for others injures, but there were just bruises and light cuts, and pondered for a moment whether to answer him or pretend not to have heard him. She opted for the first “But you fought, didn’t you? And with great disadvantage.” She raised her eyes to his face, he was already watching her “I’m sure you’ve been great help and I am even more sure that Lord Uthred would tell the same. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so worried about you.” Before he could argue, Finan came back with a pot of water and a cloth. “To clean.” he explained, waving the peace of fabric, and Osferth could swear he was blushing. Aoife shot the warrior one of her already infamous smile “What a brilliant helper.” she murmured and took both things from Finan’s hands “Thank you.” Both men had heard that, and while Osferth tried to dissimulate a laugh with a cough, Finan couldn’t really care about his friend making fun of him – he would surely have told it to the others later – because he had recognized that tone of voice, many women had addressed him with such tone. She was playing at courtship. From that moment on, he became a source of distraction, following her around and staring at her openly. If she wanted to play that game, she had to know who she was competing against. Soon, she was too shy to keep working knowing that Finan was watching every move she made, touching her ever so slightly when she was close enough; all with that charming smile of him. And when she risked to make Osferth bleed again – she pushed too hard on his stomach, making him scream in pain and the wound stretched dangerously – Finan was sent downstairs again to ask for broth and ale while Aoife finished her work. She smeared some poultice, the one that helped fasten the healing and prevent infection, on the cut before covering it with a clean piece of fabric. When Finan came back, Aoife and him had to force Osferth, with threats and pleas, to eat and drink something before falling asleep. He was acting like a child, really, but he was not to blame; he had lost much blood and experienced very traumatic events; he was scared and unable to sleep. Finan and Aoife sat next to him, one on each side, and talked with him, about everything and nothing, until his breath became regular and he fell asleep. And then, they were left alone. Finan, who until that moment had acted confident and smug, suddenly found himself at loss of word and shied away from her eyes, so deep yet open, so clear yet unreadable. “You should rest too, Finan.” Aoife said, standing up to clean the room. She turned around when he didn’t answer and he shot her a tired smile under his unkept beard. “Don’t worry, lady. It’s not my first battle.” He said “And it’s not easy for a warrior to rest after such events.” Only then Aoife noticed the trickle of fresh blood running down his forehead and on his cheek. “You’re hurt!” she cried out, running to him and taking his face in her hands. Finan was shaken to the core by that touch and unwound against the palm of her hand. He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in a long time, but that didn’t justify the fastening of his heart, nor the complete inability to control his body. “Let me clean you up.” she whispered sweetly, and he simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the chair. While cleaning the cut she could see her hands shaking, it was not the blood, nor the wound, it was touching him. With one hand she was keeping his hair back, away from his forehead, and it was softer that she expected from someone who spent most time outside and riding his horse. The thumb of her other hand brushed against his skin every time she patted on the cut, his skin rough for the wind and the battle. What surprised her the most was that, under the smell of the battle – of sweat and blood and iron, there was such a sweet scent of wood and salt water, and she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and smell him, and taste his skin with the tip of her tongue. The nun in her was outraged by those unholy, impure thoughts; the woman in her was laughing, finally free by the chain of the Abbey. She was young and he was desirable, she was more then justified in those thoughts. Finan enjoyed every touch of her soft skin and somewhere in his mind he knew she was taking her time too. He was suppressing himself from reasoning; she was young, innocent and inexperienced; while he was older, malicious and he was taking advantage of her juvenile feelings because, after such a long time alone, he needed the affection. He did not really want to think about the fact that no other woman had made his heart pump as strong and his skin crawl as she was doing right there, only by cleaning a cut. He would have worried about it later. Too soon, however, Osferth burst their bubble, groaning and turning in his sleep. Aoife stumble backwards, suddenly aware of her actions. She turned away from the Irishman, cutting, perhaps forever, the thread of complicity and intimacy that they had just created. She bended over Osferth, covering her face with her hair, to shield him from seeing how affected she was by what had just happened. When he tried to say something, she stopped him, raising a hand, and with the lower, tiniest voice she had ever used, she said “Go back to the hall, Finan. I shall stay a little longer with Osferth.” There was no answer but a slam and when she turned around, he was gone. They day after was spent in celebration. Finan was not sure how Osferth and Aethelflaed had managed to convince Aoife to participate, but he was very grateful. Firstly, because she looked particularly pretty in that specific day; a clean green vest was embracing her body in such a lovely way that Finan had to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers more than once. Secondly, it looked like she was enjoying drinking ale, the redness spreading on her full cheeks. She was laughing loudly with Aethelflaed and even if he cannot hear what they were talking about, he was grateful to be standing right in front of her. He had smoothly withdrawn himself from the conversation with Sithric and other warriors and leant against the back of the chair, staring at her. And everybody had noticed that, including her. He didn’t care, though, he liked how she was squirming under his gaze. He knew that she too was thinking about the day before, about how their bodies had searched each other. He had felt something unusual, a need of a deeper and more intimate connection, and while part of him was scared, the other was intrigued, almost happy to be back on having feelings of the sort. He had imagined, once or twice, how his life would be with a wife and children, but the ghosts of his past were still hunting him, and they would probably be hunting him forever. They were the reason he had left abruptly the day before; those and knowing that she was ashamed of being that close to him. Of course, she was not to blame, she could have – and she deserved – a better man, a younger, smarter, easier man than him. And it made his heart ache. As always, he was rushing his feelings; he had only known her for a few days and there was also the possibility that all that desire was just a consequence of his need to give into his urges. As the right hand of Uthred of Bebbanburg, he spent long periods of time without touching a woman, especially now, with the outlaw situation and everything. Aoife was young and beautiful and such a complicated combination of strength and innocence; it was not unusual that he was aroused by her. As did most of the men in the room; he could say. He could not blame them for looking at her hungrily, but he could surely hate them. He was proud, however, that it was not their gazes to get her on edge, only his. Their eyes met, and he raised his cup in her direction, making her smile a little and blush profusely. Pretty girl. Before dawn, Aoife had helped Osferth to his room. Dinner was being serve in the hall and Uthred had ordered for the prisoners to be fed too; Aoife did not like the idea of eating under the same roof as them and she was feeling more tired than hungry; therefore, she retreated in her room and was fast asleep. Had she known, she would have never left Finan’s side. She woke up at first light, as every other day. She decided to go pray before visiting Osferth and when she left church, people were already working. After her time alone with God, she was feeling peaceful and she walked to the alehouse singing under her breath. Her spirit changed when she entered Osferth’s room. He was not alone, Finan was sitting on the bed next to the monk, head in his hands. Osferth too looked shaken. “What’s wrong?” she asked concerned, running to her patient “Are you feeling sick?” The young monk shook his head, but it was the Irishman to answer. “Sithric is gone.” Aoife shot Osferth a confused look “He betrayed us, lady.” the monk explained “He fought with Uthred yesterday and this morning he was gone. And with him, the prisoners.” His voice was plain, but she could see in his eyes that he was suffering. Finan wasn’t even trying to hide how much the betrayal had affected him; he was clearly upset, and Aoife could understand why. Among all Uthred’s men, Sithric was Finan closest friend and his betrayal was making him doubt that relation. Aoife too was shaken; she did not know the man well, but she was sure about his loyalty to Uthred and his companions. She had seen him laugh his heart out, joking and playing with the others as if they were family. It was weird. And by the face of the two men in front of her, it was worse that if he was dead. Aoife could not find the right words to comfort them and she hoped that her presence would be enough, or at least well accepted. With a small smile to Osferth, she sat down next to Finan, as close as possible, and she delicately reached to hold his hand in hers. His skin was warm and rough, as she remembered, and he stiffened under her touch, not used to affection. Then he slowly relaxed, his thumb grazing over her knuckles. The three spent hours in silence on that uncomfortable bed in that bad smelling room, Osferth laying on one side, Finan and Aoife sitting on the other, hand in hand. Chapter Four.

[aadmelioraa]

A Moment Alone

Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, 1.5k, G (read on ao3)

Aldhelm could not deny he was frustrated.

Aethelflaed had fought so hard for Mercia, for Aelfwynn, to maintain order and balance. She had risked her life in battle countless times to ward off their enemies and protect their lands. It had always been necessary—until now.

But the choice had been made. They would stand by Edward’s side as he hurtled headfirst into chaos, dragging Mercia along with him. Aldhelm had given his advice and it had not made a difference. Edward’s plan was already in motion; Aldhelm’s input was no longer required. He would of course do his duty, but he could not say how the day would end. 

He needed space to think, to be alone. Not entirely sure what irked him so (he was quite used to being overruled), he returned to his tent. A moment of silence was a luxury he was not accustomed to taking.

“Aldhelm, may I speak with you?”

The moment had not lasted long. Aethelflaed was hovering at the tent’s entrance. He could see by her expression that she was none too pleased herself. Her mouth was drawn together in the way that always preceded an unpleasant conversation.

Of course he acquiesced. What else was he to say?

Aethelflaed ducked her head as she slipped through the opening, moving close enough that they could speak without fear of being overhead but no closer. The wisps of hair that framed her face could not serve to soften her expression. 

She fixed him in her gaze, hands clasped before her. “You are unhappy with my decision, Aldhelm.”

Not a question, a statement. She had no intention of allowing him to hedge his reply—not that he intended to.

“I am…concerned, Lady.”

“For Mercia?”

“For all of us.”

“We have very little choice in the matter, Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed replied. “We cannot allow Winchester to be destroyed.”

“We will not, Lady. King Edward has spoken and we will obey.”

Aethelflaed drew herself up a little straighter. He could tell that last comment had needled her. The tension between her authority and her brother’s had been on both their minds lately. 

Her arms were locked at her sides but he watched the fingers of her right hand flex in that barely perceptible way they would when she was nervous or uncertain. 

“My brother is not Lord of Mercia,” she said evenly. “But we must come to the aid of Wessex as Wessex would come to our aid.”

“And therein lies my concern. Just weeks ago your brother posted troops at the gates of Aylesbury as he does here.”

Surely she had known how her last comment rang hollow. But her eyes flashed as she replied. “That is not fair, Aldhelm, and you know it.”

“This is not the first time he has put you, and Mercia, in danger. I warned you when you arrived that your brother was being rash, and still you side with him against your better judgment. ”

It was a bold claim, but if anyone knew her mind it was him. 

He stepped forward, leaving no more than a pace between them.

“I believe the Lord Uhtred could end the siege if only we gave him more time—“

“We don’t have time,” she replied, “Our mother is within, Aldhelm. We cannot sit idly by.”

“Not idly,” he insisted. “We know that they cannot outlast a siege. It would be more prudent to allow things to take their course than to push them to a breaking point. Unnecessary lives will be lost, innocent blood shed.”

Aethelflaed clenched her jaw, no answer. She knew how risky the attack was, he was sure of it, but still she defended her brother’s choice.

“I wonder why you do not trust Uhtred to do this, Lady.”

Her nostrils flared and her frown deepened. He’d pushed too far. He should have held his tongue. 

Aethelred or Edward would have silenced him or stormed out long ago. Her mouth was set in a hard line, but she lingered.

“It’s not a matter of trust, Aldhelm. It’s a matter of strategy.”

“You don’t worry that his safety will be compromised if we attack?”

She tilted her chin away from him defensively. 

“You forget your place, Aldhelm.”

“My place is here, beside you. You have asked my advice, I have given it. Since you cannot take it, we have nothing further to say between us.”

She bit her lip as she looked at him, cheeks flushed in anger.

“I will hold my tongue in future, Lady.”

She exhaled sharply, gazing up at the roof of the tent. 

“That is not what I have asked. I thank you for your advice, Aldhelm. I am sorry not to have lived up to your expectations.”

It was his turn to take insult. 

“I did not say that,” he replied, attempting to restrain the passion in his voice by keeping his tone low.

Aethelflaed shook her head gently, eyes shining with tears. That stung as much as her assumption had.

“You don’t think that you perhaps have me on too high a pedestal?”

“No higher than the honor of your title. No higher than you yourself deserve.”

She was resting one fist on her hip, the other still clenched at her side. It was clear she remained conflicted about their way forward, and it pained him to watch for he could not alleviate that burden. He had rarely seen her so vulnerable in all their time together.

“I have overstepped, Lady.” He dropped his gaze, allowing her to collect herself. “I apologize.”

“I asked for your opinion, Aldhelm,” she replied quietly, “And I thank you for your continued honesty.”

She spoke as if defeated. He hear the exhaustion in her voice. And this battle was still to be fought. 

He could not take back anything that he had said, merely reassure her that they'd fight their way out of this scrape together.

“I admire you, Lady, and I believe in you, as do the rest of your men. We will stand with Wessex proudly as we have so many times before.”

Aethelflaed crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing one shoulder as if to comfort herself.

“You think that I’ve abandoned him.”

Her thoughts had returned to Uhtred, of course. Things had ended between them back in Aylesbury but naturally some feelings would linger.

“No, Lady.”

“You do.”

He hesitated. She seemed intent on picking this fight, so he let her. 

“I cannot help but wonder how I would feel in Uhtred’s place, I suppose.”

Aethelflaed took a half step towards him, one hand resting on her sword. “If I did not know better I would think you spoke in envy now, Aldhelm.”

“Not in envy, Lady.”

“Perhaps envy is the wrong word,” she continued coldly. “Perhaps you are merely relieved it is not you who have been the object of my affections. It does not seem to end well for such men. To be loved by me is to be cursed.”

She spoke with a self-loathing so unfamiliar to his ears that he found it difficult to counter at first.

“The Lord Uhtred may yet live. And we cannot choose whom we love or do not.”

“Of course,” she laughed bitterly, gripping the hilt of her weapon till her knuckles turned white, “why else would you remain so devoted to such a woman?”

“My lady, I know you do not believe that.”

“Again, you tell me my own mind.”

He could not tell from her tone if she was incredulous or merely irritated. 

“You know that I remain devoted to you, Lady, and to Mercia no matter what affections are in my heart.”

She exhaled shakily. 

“It’s more than I deserve, Aldhelm, but I thank you.”

Her gaze had softened. She was calmer now. The storm seemed to have passed.

“Are you planning to use that now?” he asked, gesturing to the sword her hand still gripped. 

The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. “Not on you. Not at the moment, anyway.”

He smiled too.

Her shoulders looked lighter now than when she had entered the tent. She was standing tall again, looking like her usual self.

“I expect we ought to find King Edward.”

“I expect we ought,” she echoed softly, looking at him in that way that made his life both heaven and hell at once. As usual, he had no time to dwell on those feelings.

“We will do everything in our power to bring them to safety, Lady—all of them.”

She nodded, and before he knew what he was doing he’d taken her in his arms. This was an intimacy that was new to him, but if he could provide even a fraction of the comfort she needed he would have set himself on fire to do it. 

The leather armor she wore pressed against his own, but he could feel the softness of her hair as he rested his chin on her head. 

“If I cared less about your opinion I would be a worse ruler,” she murmured. “Your service is not something I will ever take for granted, despite any disagreement. I care for you dearly, Aldhelm—I do not know what I would do without you.”

That pulled at something deep within him but he suppressed it with a joke as was his way. 

“I will do my best to avoid being stabbed again, if that’s your wish.”

His chest muffled her laugh slightly.

“Thank you, Aldhelm.”

[lovehugsandcandy]

It's Only a Game (Part 7)

A/N: This is completely AU now.  There is a short epilogue after this one to wrap up the series (sorry, this one’s wicked long).

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: R (Swearing and violence and people getting hurt.)

Length: 5229 words

Summary: Colt has a plan to hit the Brotherhood, but at what cost?

Tags: @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @going-down-downtown @jolietmaraud @soniadotalves @moonlit-girl-wonder @hazah @flowerpowell @poeticscolt

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is only for fun.

Ellie looked up from the door of the storage unit at the pair of figures heading towards them. “Wait, what is Mona doing here? And Ximena?”  

Logan looked up from the lock he was struggling with. “I don’t know….”

Kaneko had them moving the cars all over the city, convinced that the cops were going to find the three cars. She felt like they had been walking and driving for hours; her feet hurt and the sweat had her hair sticking to her forehead. She just wanted to take a shower, but Kaneko kept calling.

Ximena gave a wave as she got closer. “Hi! What are you doing here?”

“We are moving the Maranello. Kaneko’s orders.”

Mona froze and, annoyed, huffed a stray stand of hair off her face. “Wait, what? We just put the Maranello in the unit by the ocean an hour ago.” 

“We just got the Maranello out of that unit to go here.” Logan looked confused.

Ximena scrunched her nose. “Sweetie, we just got the GT to put in this unit.”

“But….we just put the GT  in the unit off the highway.” Ellie looked around at the crew. “Maybe Kaneko is confused.”

“I don’t like this.” Mona furrowed her eyebrows.

Suddenly, Toby came up the path, whistling, spinning a pair of keys in outstretched fingers. “Hey guys! I’m here to drop the Stuttgart off.”

“What?  ….But….” Ellie was trying, and failing, to keep up. “Why would you drop that car off, we already-”

Logan cut her off. “Kaneko is trying to keep us away from the garage.” Logan grabbed the keys out of Toby’s hands. “We need to go back. Now. Mona, Ximena, take the GT back. Toby, with us.” He took off down the path, back towards the street.

“What?” Ellie followed, struggling to keep up. “Why would he want us out of the garage?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Logan led the crew past the gate and hopped into the driver’s seat of the Stuttgart, Ellie sliding in the passenger seat.

Toby folded his legs into the back seat, a tight fit in the small car. “If he wants us out, maybe we should stay out.”

“With everything going on? Not a chance.” Logan turned the key and barely waited for the back door to close before he gunned it.

~~~~~

As soon as Logan slid the key from the ignition, he slammed open the door and was out of the car like a shot. It was empty on the floor, so quiet that Ellie thought the shop was empty. Logan’s stomping footsteps echoed on the concrete as he made a beeline for the office but, before he could get there, Kaneko emerged, shutting the door tightly behind him.

“Did you finish? Are the cars away?” Kaneko half-heartedly looked at Logan; Ellie had never seen him so distracted. Usually he was calm, placidly moving through life whether he was directing multi-million dollar robberies or telling Salazar to ruin his own car. Now, he looked nervous, fingers drumming a rhythm against his good leg.

“Boss?” Logan paused, obviously noticing it too. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that I asked you to do a job and no one has confirmed that it is done.” Ellie stopped next to Logan and looked between them both; Kaneko’s harsh voice echoed around the floor but he didn’t look angry. He looked...concerned?

Before Ellie could put her finger on it, she heard footsteps coming up from the basement and, for a moment, it was like the rest of the crew disappeared as Colt emerged from the stairs to his room.

He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him, stopping to stare back as she drank him in. It had been less than a week but she felt like she was looking at him for the first time, taking in the jacket, the eyes, the hair, all familiar but new.

She stepped forward. “Colt?”

Colt just stared at her and swallowed, hard. He looked trapped and his eyes cut to his dad. She took another step forward and, to her shock, he took a step backwards, away from her and the crew, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Colt?” 

Colt looked past her, past the crew, face expressionless. She was about to speak again when he looked at her; she tried to see a glimpse of something, softness, recognition, anything, but it was like looking at a new person, a harder, tougher version of Colt. “I need to work on my bike.”

Ellie stared in shock as he walked by the crew, not making eye contact with anyone, and settled down next to his bike. Logan caught her eye and shrugged.

She stood, awkwardly, until Toby whistled in the background. “Okay.....”

Finally, this seemed to get a reaction out of Kaneko. “Do I pay you all to stand around? Get to work.”

With one last look, Ximena and Toby wandered away, back to the junker they were pulling part from while Kaneko walked over to his Aylesbury. Mona lingered, looking suspicious, but finally headed to the break room so only Ellie and Logan stood there. “This is weird,” he whispered.

“Maybe jail was worse than Kaneko thought it would be?”

Logan shrugged and Ellie’s eyes cut to Colt. He was on the ground, tooling with a screwdriver underneath the chassis. She nodded, resolutely. “I’m going to talk to him.”

Logan shrugged and glanced over to Colt. “Couldn’t hurt,” he muttered, rubbing her shoulder. “Good luck.”

She shot him a half-smile and headed over. Colt obviously heard her coming and tensed, but kept working on the bike. “Hey, Colt.”

He didn’t even look up. “Hi. What’s up?”

Ellie paused. “Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

Ellie waited for more but it wasn’t forthcoming. “What the hell happened to you?”

There was a clatter as the screwdriver fell to the ground and, finally, he turned to her, eyes cold. “I’m trying to fix my bike, Ellie.” He turned, grabbing a wrench off the ground, and got to work as Ellie stood there, mouth gaping.

She was frozen, staring at his back, in shock at her unceremonious dismissal. What the hell? She wanted to call him out, but it didn’t seem like the time and, honestly, she was so confused by the change in demeanor that she didn’t know what to think.

She didn’t have long to stand there, considering her next move, as the bay door opened as a car pulled in. Ellie’s heart dropped as she saw a very familiar car roll into the shop, watching in shock as he father slid out of the driver’s side. He looked worn, tired, slightly more rumpled than usual, but it was her dad, in the flesh, right in front of her. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him, really truly missed him, until that moment. Her heart ached for him. “Dad?”

Even across the room, he heard her and caught her eye. He paused, taking her in with a sharp inhale; she saw his eyes flit over her face, her new tattoo. The stared at each other, eyes speaking volumes, for a moment until he seemed to remember why he was here. He gave her a sharp shake of the head as he walked further into the garage. “Not now, Ellie.” His tone turned businesslike, cold. “Colt Kaneko? We need to talk to you. Now.”

Ellie heard a clatter, loud behind her, and Colt stood up, chucking a wrench on the ground. “What the hell, man? Seriously?”

Her dad shook his head. “Let’s go. We have some more questions for you.”

“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere.” Colt’s eyes flitted to the detective getting out of the passenger seat and he flipped him off. “Fuck, this asshole again? Fuck you!”

Ellie had never seen this new cop before; she assumed he was her dad’s new partner. He laughed, darkly. “You thought we had fun last time, kid? You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Colt swore again and Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off him as he stomped towards the cruiser. He was absolutely furious, coiled tight, the tension in his muscles visible beneath his jacket. 

Her dad stepped closer to him, reaching out. “Come on, kid, let’s go.” 

“Fuck you, I already wasted three days of my life....” Her dad reached out again, arm on Colt’s forearm, but Colt shook him off, turning away, snarling. “I said fuck you.”

Her dad stepped closer again, in Colt’s space, and it was like Ellie saw it happening in slow motion. Her dad reaching out, Colt spinning, fist flying, connecting with her dad’s jaw, the flailing as her dad hit the ground. Someone was screaming and Ellie realized it was her.

She ran, sprinting to her dad’s side. The other cop beat her there and threw Colt to the ground. They were wrestling each other, swearing, the cop trying to force cuffs on Colt’s wrists, but all she could see was her dad on the ground, clutching his face.

She dropped to her knees. “Dad? Dad! Are you ok?”

He sat up, gingerly, clutching his jaw, brushing her off; she could see the red mark, bright and obvious on his jaw, where Colt’s fist had landed. It looked like it would bruise. He looked over at Colt and his partner, watching the tussle. The cop was dragging Colt up by the handcuffs around his wrists, pulling him over to the cop car.

Her dad stood, shaky, and Ellie scrambled up after him, holding onto his arm. “Dad...”

“Not NOW Ellie.” Her dad was pissed and the clipped words stung. “Get him the hell out of here. Now. I don’t even wanna be in the same car with him. Take him to the precinct.”

“You sure?” The other cop pushed Colt against the cop car while Colt glowered at him, struggling against his handcuffs.

“I can catch a ride back from patrol.” Ellie watched her dad rub his jaw and her heart broke. She couldn’t believe how far everything had gone. She couldn’t believe that the boy she.... The boy she thought she loved, the boy who... In the battle between two of the most important people in her life, she could see in stunning clarity her choice.

Balling her hands into fists, she stormed over to Colt, who was leaning against her dad’s car petulantly. She stopped in front of him and watched him still, looking at her warily. She was sure that she couldn’t keep the anger off her face.

“MY DAD?!? My DAD, Colt?!?! REALLY?!?!” She was completely losing her composure; she couldn’t stop screaming. “You fucking hit my dad?!?!”

Colt pulled back, straightening up against the car, mouth open in shock. “Ellie....”

“You asshole, you HIT MY DAD.” Her hand came out before she could think, a sharp satisfying movement, all instinct. She didn’t even realize she slapped Colt until she heard the sickening sound of her hand land on his cheek, felt the impact through her arm. She was shaking, an anger she had never felt before rearing its head. Colt looked at her, tonguing the side of his mouth where blood had started to slide down his lip.

“Ellie....” He sounded broken.

She didn’t care.

“You really are just a hothead fucking criminal, aren’t you? Fuck you.” She came at him again and was gratified to see him flinch. She stopped, putting her hand down without making contact. “MY DAD?!?!”

She could vaguely hear her dad calling her name behind her but she was consumed by her fury. She stepped closer to Colt, hissing, “I regret everything. Everything. Everything we ever did, everything..... Go fuck yourself.”

He met her eyes and pushed himself off the car, awkwardly, as if to reach for her . “Ellie....” He stopped, mouth forming words that wouldn’t come. 

“Get him out of here.” Her dad had come up behind her and was talking, harsh, clipped, pissed off to the other detective.

Colt glanced at her dad and his face darkened. He looked like he was about to spout off again but the her dad’s partner grabbed his arm, stepping between them, and opening the car door. Colt struggled halfheartedly and then went limp, letting himself be dragged around, thrown in the backseat.

She watched him, watched him sit and turn to look at her. She saw his eyes narrow, the car start, and then he was gone.

Her hand were in fists, tears pricking her eyes, as Ximena walked over. “Sweetie....sweetie....” Before she knew it, she was wrapped in Ximena’s comforting hug, surrounded by her strong arms. 

Ellie was trying to stop crying, sniffling to try to stop the faucet leaking off of her face, but it wasn’t working.  She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, cocooned in Ximena, but she turned as Kaneko spoke. “Do you need ice?”

Her dad was still staring out the bay of the shop, lost in thought. He turned back to Kaneko and look tired. Ellie felt tired too. “No,” he shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “I’m fine.”

Her dad and Kaneko looked at each other, watching, for so long Ellie almost intervened when finally, her dad nodded and they both started walking into Kaneko’s office. Ellie caught Logan’s eye. He looked as confused as she felt.

That confusion turned to complete bewilderment minutes later as her dad left the office, clutching his vest and a tablet. “They took a left on Manchester. The kid was right.”

Kaneko hobbled behind him, unable to keep up with her dad’s strides. “Can I come with you?”

“Sorry. No way. But I will let you know as soon as I know something, ok?” Her dad shook his head, buckling the last few straps of the vest.

Kaneko nodded and watched her dad rush out of the bay. He waited mere seconds before heading to the Alyesbury.

“Boss?” Logan stepped forward, sharing a look with Ellie. “Boss, what is going on?”

“I’ll be back.” Kaneko slid into the driver’s seat. Ellie exchanged glances with the entire crew. Everyone looked as baffled as she felt and , without a word, the entire crew converged on Kaneko’s car in unison. She pulled open the passenger door and slid in with Logan, while Toby, Mona, and Ximena shoved into the back seat.

“Get out of my-”

Logan slammed the door behind him, cutting Kaneko off. “Just drive.”

~~~~~

Ellie shifted to try and give Logan more space as they made their way through the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ximena trying and failing to fit comfortably in the backseat, but no one said anything, air heavy in the car.

“Boss? Where are we going?” Logan shifted and wrapped an arm around Ellie’s shoulder. She was glad for the support; her fury had been replaced by complete confusion and she felt unmoored.

Kaneko said nothing as he drove, slowly. Ellie watched the out the window, not really seeing anything, when she realized they were taking a left on La Brea. “I know where we’re going....” she breathed out. 

Logan nudged her and she looked up at his confused face. She hadn’t even realized she had spoken. 

“Inglewood....we’re going to the factory, aren’t we?”

Kaneko tightened this grip on the steering wheel and said nothing.

Ellie looked at him. “Kaneko, what’s going on?”

His mouth was a grim line, pale in the darkness. “You will all stay in the car. Only I will get out.”

“Boss, are you insane?” Logan glared. “We’re a part of all this now and-”

“YOU WILL STAY IN THE CAR.” Ellie had rarely heard Kaneko raise his voice; she could see how he commanded respect in this world.

The rest of the ride was in complete silence.

~~~~~

Her dad’s patrol car was here, parked outside, another cruiser next to it. Kaneko pulled in slowly and turned off the engine. He stopped, gathering his thoughts, before turning to the crew. “It is imperative that you stay here. I won’t have you endangering my son.”

Ellie shook her head. “No, if my dad is here...”

He shook his head, violently. “Stay in the car.” He pulled open the door swinging his legs out, but grimaced as soon as they hit the gravel. Ellie shot a concerned glance to Logan and turned back to see Kaneko stumble slightly as he stood, clutching the car door. 

“Boss, your leg.” Logan opened the door and hopped out, walking towards Kaneko. “You ok?”

Ellie saw her chance and slid over, quickly, placing her feet on the ground as quietly as she could. With one last glance back, she pushed off the seat and was off.

“Oh shit.” Mona’s words, a mix of amusement and awe, echoes as she sprinted to the factory and puled open the door.

The sun was setting, the glare and the shadows making it harder to see when she darted inside. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust then slowly, quietly, she made her way past machines, through fumes of gas and shards of broken glass, deeper into the building. She was peering down a hallway, trying to see if she could hear anything, when a hand on her arm made her gasp.

She whirled, fist raised, and Logan put his hands up. “Whoa....whoa whoa whoa, just me.”

“Jesus, Logan.” Her heart was pounding, heavy in her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He shot her a lopsided smile. “Kaneko was not pleased about the stunt you pulled, so he wanted me to come get you.”

“What?” Ellie crossed her arms. “Seriously?”

Logan chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s what he wanted. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it. Don’t you want to find your dad?” Ellie gaped at him before she slowly smiled.

“Let’s go.” With that, he followed her, down dingy hallways, dark rooms until finally, the path opened up and they were on the factory floor. Old machines, rusted and in pieces, were scattered in a giant room. The smell of gas was stronger here and oil had spilled on the ground, looking like it had seeped out of machines eons ago. They walked through rows of machinery, dim light filtering through high windows, until finally the room opened up and they could see.

With a gasp, Logan grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a behemoth of metal, a giant contraption dusty with time and disrepair. He pointed out, deeper into the factory with a shaky hand, and Ellie felt her stomach drop as her eyes followed its path.

In the middle of the factory floor, two figures stood. Ellie had to squint for a minute before she realized she was looking at Colt and her dad’s partner. It looked like they were talking and the cop looked none too pleased at the conversation. She could tell by the tilt of his shoulders that Colt was pissed but holding himself back. His handcuffs were off and he was gesturing, all choppy movements and barely restrained fury.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying and peered around the machinery, looking for a path to move forward. Logan crouched behind her, close, looking intently out into the dark.

“We should get closer,” Ellie whispered. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Besides, look....”

He gestured through the dark and, once Ellie saw it, her heart dropped. Her dad was crouching though the darkness, bullet-proof vest on, gun out. He was headed towards Colt cautiously. “Why does he have his gun out? Colt’s not armed.”

She and Logan looked at each other for a beat. Her eyes widened and Logan’s mouth dropped. “The other cop is armed.”

Ellie turned and it seemed like everything happened in an instant. The detective pulled a gun and Colt stepped back. Her dad emerged from the darkness, moving fast, but was it fast enough? Gun shots. One? Two? How many? What happened, other than her heart stopping, throat closing, Logan gasping, a yell.

She blinked and stood, blinking again. The air smelled of smoke, overpowering the gasoline fumes. It was making Ellie dizzy.

She blinked, looked, and screamed.

Her dad was cuffing the other detective, grappling on the ground. It looked like her dad had aimed true, as the detective was bleeding from a leg wound, the bullet tearing a hole through this uniform pants.

But Colt. Colt was on the ground.

She screamed again and ran, sprinted and fell to the ground next to him, landing hard on the concrete floor. Her dad was trying to read Miranda rights in the background but she couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, could only see Colt clutching his arm, face a grimace of pain. There was blood, a lot of blood, and it was still coming, pooling through his fingers to flow onto the factory floor.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Her dad was behind her but she couldn’t think, could only watch the blood pooling and flowing. How much blood could one person lose?

Logan crouched down next to Colt and, thankfully, wasn’t as frozen as Ellie. He ripped off his jacket, ripping and tearing until a sleeve came off. “Move,” he pushed Colt’s arm up, straight into the air, wrapping it up, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Fuck.” Colt was pale, eyes glazed over. Ellie grabbed his hand, slick with blood, and held on, tight, but he didn’t react, didn’t register the movement.

“Shots fired. Victim down. Officer down. We need two buses, stat.”

“Colt?”

Logan grimaced. “I think it hit an artery.”

Colt finally turned, eyes out of focus, face pale, looking over her shoulder. ”I’m sorry....I’m sorry about your jaw.”

Ellie looked up to watch her dad shake his head, tears in his eyes, swallowing hard. “You did good, kid. You did good.”

Colt’s eyes met hers then, hazy and unfocused. He smiled, squeezing her hand, his eyes never leaving hers until his lashes fluttered and then stilled as his eyes closed and Ellie screamed.

~~~~~~

“I’m going with him.” She was numb. She watched the paramedics load the stretcher into the ambulance, red lights flashing patterns against the wall. They had come quickly, sirens screaming into the night, but she didn’t know if it would be quick enough. The pallor on her dad’s face told her that he wasn’t sure either.

“Are you related?” The paramedic stared at her, harsh. She wondered how many gun shots she had seen, how many friends and family members she had to deal with on rides just like this one.

“No but-” 

“I’m his father. I’m going. She’s coming.” Kaneko climbed in the back, following the stretcher, leg limping behind him as he settled in.

The paramedic rolled her eyes, but acquiesced with a nod of her head.

She went to follow, but her day stopped her with a hand on her wrist, looking at her. “I need to go with Foley. See you at the hospital?” She nodded and, before she knew what was happening, he wrapped her in a hug. “See you soon, pumpkin.”

With that, he kissed her on the forehead and she nodded, climbing up, into the back of the ambulance, settling on top of a first aid kit, a makeshift seat in the crowded vehicle. The paramedic shut the door and, minutes later, siren again blazing, they were off.

She leaned forward, looking at Colt, careful not to get in the way of the paramedic currently working on him. He hadn’t awoken and his skin hadn’t regained any color, dark circles under his eyes adding to the surreal scene in front of her. He looked dead. She was so used to action and reaction from Colt, whether it was a smirk or a glare or a smart comment, generally something self-assured, something cocky, something that make her heart melt; to see him like this, still and immobile, she had to focus on not vomiting.

“Do you know his blood type?” The paramedic broke into her reverie, looking at Kaneko.

He at least had the sense to look ashamed. “I do not.”

The paramedic shrugged, turning back to his cooler to grab a blood bag. Kaneko looked at his hands.

“Kaneko?” Ellie turned to him. It didn’t look like his thoughts were taking him anywhere pleasant. “What happened back there?”

He let out a sigh, long, loud, and slouched down. “It was Colt’s plan.”

“What was Colt’s plan?”

“The other detective, the one your dad shot....he was in The Brotherhood.” Kaneko looked at her as she tried to process. “He is the contact who you saw meeting with me after the Grapevine job.”

Ellie’s mind whirled. “We barely saw him, it was so dark.”

“Colt recognized his voice and came up with this plan.”

“The plan was to get shot?!?” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. She watched the paramedic give Colt blood, watched it draining into his arm. They had stopped the bleeding, but she could still see the pool of red on the factory floor behind her eyelids.

“The plan was to get him alone.”

Ellie thought for a second. “...he needed to somehow separate him, away from other cops.”

Kaneko nodded, dull eyes trained on his son. “Your dad helped with that part. Create a diversion where your dad could follow from a distance, get him in the car alone, get him talking....”

“My dad wanted a confession, didn’t he?” Ellie’s eyes widened. “He wore a wire.”

“We didn’t know how many people were involved, didn’t know if there were other dirty cops.” Kaneko shook his head. “This was too dangerous, but Colt insisted.”

Ellie turned back to Colt, still and quiet. The paramedic was getting another bag of blood ready. “Of course he did....”

The ambulance slowed and the siren turned off. “Almost there folks,” the paramedic called, hooking up the second bag.

Kaneko turned to her. “He didn’t want you there. He didn’t want you there for this.”

Ellie felt the tears prick her eyes. “Of course not...” He knew how she would react, seeing him assault her dad. He knew. And now all she could do was replay their last interaction in her head, the things she said to him, the slap, all echoing. 

The ambulance stopped and, seconds later, the doors open, a flurry of activity outside. People, nurses, doctors, she couldn’t even tell, pulling the stretcher out, moving, through the ER doors. 

She followed with Kaneko, trying to keep up, but it was pointless. They were moving too fast, Kaneko still hobbling. She watched them go through a set of double doors, wheels squeaking as they sped away.

“Mr. Kaneko?” A receptionist walked over to them, clipboard in hand. “Can I see you at Registration?”

Kaneko gave her one last look and patted her shoulder, twice, before turning away. “Of course.”

Ellie stood alone, awkwardly, in the ER waiting room, taking in the drab walls, the worn carpet, the fish tank. Finally, with leaden legs, she walked over to a chair, fell into it, and started to sob.

~~~~~

A week later....

The walk down to Colt’s room took forever as Ellie dragged her feet. It felt like ages since she had been down here, like another lifetime had happened in between then and now. She remembered how excited and nervous she was last time; now, all she felt was sadness.

She knocked a few times and was about to turn the handle when Colt pulled open the door, blinking against the light. He was disheveled, pajama pants low, exposing a tempting patch of skin near his hips. Ellie quickly averted her eyes; she had to stay focused.

Colt’s face fell as he caught sight of the expression on her face. “Hi. Uhhh....” He brought a hand up to his head, smoothing down his mussed hair. ”Come in.”

Ellie walked in, slowly, taking in the familiar surroundings. “Hey.” She took a deep breath, turning to him as he closed the door behind her. “I wanted to let you know that I am going home. I’m going back to my dad.”

Colt nodded, wary. “Okay. Okay, that’s....I’m glad you two talked.”

“Yeah....” Ellie bit her lip before continuing. “So, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

She saw his eyes widen as he looked her over, bag over her shoulder and steel in her eyes. “....You’re not coming back, are you?”

“No,” Her eyes dropped to his feet. “I’m not.”

He took a step forward. “Ellie....”

“This life isn’t for me. Not anymore. I can’t do this.” Finally, her voice was steady enough that she could meet his eyes. “I’m out, Colt.”

“You don’t have to cut us all out. You don’t have to work-”

“I can’t do this, Colt!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but this was harder than she anticipated. Colt looked broken in front of her, face falling, bandage covering his arm. Tears started flowing down her cheeks, only a few at first. “I can’t do this.” 

“What if we-”

The tears were coming faster. Shit. “This is insane. It always was and I got so caught up with the adventure, with you.” She shook her head, frowning darkly. “I got so caught up and I need to get out.”

“What if-”

“I SAW YOU BLEEDING OUT COLT!” She was full-on crying now, heaving sobs escaping her lungs. She saw him freeze, jaw slackening as he took her in. Ellie looked at the floor and continued, quieter. Neither her words nor her tears would stop now. “You could have died. I was right there and you were bleeding and it wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t do anything about it. Do you know what it’s like, to be completely powerless, watching someone pass out and not knowing if they would ever wake up again? I thought you were going to die.”

“Ellie....” he was rubbing his left arm, near the bandage, the memory of that awful night. Would he have a scar? Probably, right? She assumed that bullet wounds left lasting scars. She also thought the scars would be limited to people who were shot, but she knew she wouldn’t be the same either. “Ellie, I’m ok.”

“And next time? The next time?” Ellie looked down, shaking her head. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Colt paused, considering. “What if I went back to school?”

Ellie stopped. Of all the possible options, she hadn’t thought of that one. “I don’t know....” She thought. “Would you? Make that decision? And leave this life? Would you really do that?” 

The look on his face gave her all the answer she needed. 

She laughed, darkly, stepping closer. All she wanted was one last look. One last time, to study the curve of his jaw, the light in his eyes. She was so close she could hear him breathing, steady in the quiet room. He put his hand to her cheek, so careful; little did he know she was already broken. One last kiss, slowly kissing his top lip, bottom lip, watching his eyelashes flutter as he looked down at her.

“Goodbye, Colt.” She brushed by him, the thud of the door final behind her as she headed back to her car.

[suevincent]

Stuart Templeton at Ratmobile Adventures recently wrote about an impromptu stop and a battle by a bridge. It reminded me of a battle that took place locally…

For some reason or another, I’ve been thinking about the church at Hardwick a fair bit lately, and thinking I needed to revisit. It is not far from home and I run past it every week when I  go out to the farm to collect my son’s milk. I went through the photos from two previous visits, trying to find out what was bugging me about the place.

The first time I had visited, on my own, I had thought the place rather bland and uninteresting, even though it technically ticked all ‘our’ boxes… not realising that the missing ingredient was my companion on these adventures. A second visit, in his company, revealed all the details I had managed, on that first visit, to see, photograph… and dismiss. It wasn’t the church that was missing something, it was me.

St Mary the Virgin, Hardwick, is a rather grand church for such a small village, but as with many of these little hamlets, its history was tied to the families and events of a different era. It is thought that the first Saxon church was built here by Saxi, who was a thane… a landholder…under Edward the Confessor. Edward, the last king of the House of Wessex, was born not far away in Islip, just over the border into Oxfordshire, around AD1003.

The current church, though, was built around eight hundred years ago. Part of the nave dates from that time, but most of the church was added over the next two hundred years, with a major redesign and refurbishment by George Edwin Street in 1872.

A plaque on the wall states that the work was completed thanks to the efforts of the Rev. Bigg-Wither, in whose memory the reredos was installed, showing angels holding the instruments of the Crucifixion.

There are a number of memorial plaques on the walls, though the  most striking memorial is that of Sir Robert Lee and his lady, Luce Piggott. Sir Robert died in 1616, aged seventy-three, and after fifty-five years of marriage. The couple face each other in prayer, and ranged about them are their eight sons and six daughters.

Little survives to show how the church might have looked in Sir Robert’s day, but there are clues. In one corner, where the banner of the Mother’s Union stands against the wall, are the remains of the stairway that probably once led to the rood loft… which means there would have been a rood screen, separating the chancel from the nave and surmounted by a depiction of the Crucifixion.

There are a couple of piscinae in the walls… little ‘sinks’ where holy water was disposed of, so that it would return to the building. In one corner, now behind glass, is a tiny cruet… a little jug, dating from the fourteenth century and found hidden in a secret chamber in the east wall, during the 1872 restorations.

You have to wonder why it was so carefully hidden… what it contained or what was its significance… and whether it was hidden to preserve it during the Reformation, when Cromwell’s troops destroyed so many sacred objects and art.

The magnificent windows were, for the most part, installed during Street’s re-ordering of the church. Only a few fragments of medieval glass survive, set in a small, circular window in the side chapel… all that is left of the early glass after such ‘idolatrous images’ were smashed by Cromwell’s Parliamentarian troops.

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It was Cromwell and the English Civil War that had called me back to Hardwick. The one photograph I did not have from the church was of a memorial, tucked away beneath the corner of the tower. The simple tomb bears a plaque telling how the bones of two hundred and forty-seven men were found in a field by Holman’s Bridge, not far away, in 1818. Given the history of the site and the appearance of the bones, they were thought to be the officers and men who had died in the Battle of Aylesbury, between Cromwell’s Roundheads and King Charles’ Cavaliers in 1642.

The royal forces, under Prince Rupert of the Rhine, had taken and occupied the town. On hearing of the approach of the Parliamentary forces, they sallied out, meeting the enemy forces by the ford where Holman’s Bridge now stands. Rupert’s forces charged the fifteen hundred enemy troops, but was driven back and forced to retreat, leaving five hundred of his men dead on the field. Cromwell’s forces are reported to have lost only ninety.

In 1818, workmen found the graves on the battlefield, including many that seemed to be those of officers. The bodies were collected and buried together in a mass grave at Hardwick, where the late Lord Nugent raised their memorial, where…

“…enemies through their attachment to opposite leaders and opposite standards in the sanguinary conflicts of that Civil War, they were together victims to its fury, united in one common slaughter, they were buried in one common grave, close to that spot where they had lately stood in arms against each other.After a lapse of more than a century and a half, their bones were collected and deposited, together still, in consecrated ground. may the memory of brave men be respected and may our country never again be called to take part in a contest such as that which this tablet records.”

Finding death together in battle, these men had finally found a place of peace. I admit that there were tears in my eyes as I read the tablet. More so, knowing what had happened over the last few years…

There is some controversy surrounding the battle, bolstered by a dearth of documentary evidence. The only document that survives to mention the battle is a Roundhead pamphlet that some now dismiss as propaganda. Prince Rupert is recorded as being elsewhere on that date… though that would not preclude troops nominally under his command from engaging the enemy. The battle that is said to have cost so many their lives has been reduced to ‘possibly’ a skirmish… and that in spite of the Civil War gun emplacements in a neighbouring field and the martial relics found in the area.

The gun emplacements have been called into question… it has been suggested that they may simply be a medieval rabbit warren. If so, they must be the biggest ruddy rabbits ever to have evolved. It has also been suggested that the bodies, in spite of being so carefully interred that they appeared to differentiate between the graves of officers and men, were ‘just’ plague graves. Or even Saxon…

In fact, the only thing anyone can agree on is that an awfully large residential development was built on the site around the time that the hitherto accepted story came into question. This development is twinned with another, a couple of fields across. It abuts the once-great Manor of Quarrendon that belonged to Sir Henry Lee, the Champion of Queen Elizabeth I, of which only an earthen ghost remains. The village of Quarrendon was part of the lands where only the melancholy remains of St Peter’s church still stand, marking the place where St Edburga and St Edith, daughters of King Penda of Mercia, and their niece St Osyth, were born.

While the memory of the dead must indeed make way for the needs of the living, I do have to wonder sometimes at the casual way our history and heritage can be dismissed… especially when money is concerned. Many important sites are under threat from unsympathetic developments…including Stonehenge, that most iconic ancient site.

As to the bodies found by Holman’s Bridge, no matter who they were, at least they now rest far from the bustle of a fast-growing town. I wonder, though, if the new residents know… or care… that so many died and were buried, with their stories, in their back yard?

The mystery in ‘my back yard…’ Stuart Templeton at Ratmobile Adventures recently wrote about an impromptu stop and a battle by a bridge.

[mariedemedicis]

Constance Markievicz

“The story of this beautiful, headstrong girl belongs to the pages of romantic fiction. Born to power and privilege she rode fast horses over her father’s thousands of acres. Presented at the court of Queen Victoria she was adopted as the darling of the Dublin Castle social set. Tiring of the social round she turned to conspiracy and war. Adopting the mantle of the revolutionary she was condemned to death; reprieved she became a national heroine.

Her social conscience developed early. Contrasting the lifestyle of the privileged circles of the Ascendancy, in which her family moved, with those of their impoverished tenants Constance wrote: ‘…Hidden away among rocks on the bleak mountain sides, or soaking in the slime and ooze of the boglands, or beside the Atlantic shore where the grass is blasted yellow by the salt west wind, you find the dispossessed people of the old Gaelic race in their miserable cabins.’

All her life Constance Markievicz was passionately devoted to women’s suffrage.

[...] She joined James Connolly’s Citizen Army. Gaining a reputation as ‘The Rebel Countess’ she founded na Fianna Eireann, the national boy scout movement who were eventually to play a major part in the Irish rebellion.

On the morning of Easter Monday 1916, clad in green uniform and carrying a Mauser automatic pistol, Countess Markievicz marched at the head of a small column of Citizen Army men to St. Stephens Green. During the battle that followed she served so bravely and fearlessly alongside her male comrades that her courage became a watchword and her name a legend.

Following the surrender she was sentenced to death along with the other leaders of the rebellion. The British fearing a worldwide reaction if they executed a woman commuted her sentence to penal servitude for life. Released from Aylesbury jail in England following the general amnesty of 1917 she returned to Sligo to a rapturous welcome. During this visit she was awarded the Freedom of the City.

[...] On April 1 [...] following her appointment to the First Irish Dail as Secretary for Labour she achieved the distinction of becoming the first woman Cabinet Minister in the world.

[...] Having dispensed her possessions to the poor of Dublin she died penniless in an open ward in a public hospital on July 15 1927. She was 59 years old. Although her contribution to the cherished dream of a free Ireland was immeasurable, a hostile Freestate Government refused her the recognition of a State funeral.”

[flynnmcdonnellwriting]

The Birth of the ‘Troubled Estate’: A photo essay into Tom Hunter – ‘Holly Street Voids’

Documenting the effects of regeneration, artist Tom Hunter moved into Holly Street Estate, Hackney two years before it was demolished. Featuring four nineteen storey towers and nineteen five-storey buildings interconnected by a long ‘sinister’ corridor, Hunter photographed the last remaining residents of the community. Capturing the peaceful interiors of the resident’s homes, Hunter emphasises the individual presence of each occupants as representative of an old age of social housing that would quite literally be torn down and rebuilt. Paralleled to the neglected exterior of the tower blocks and the difficult struggle of daily life that came with it. Hunter expresses the importance of the resident’s welfare through his insistence to challenge the stereotypes around estate (Figure 1). As he states, “It was rough and violent and there was graffiti and rubbish everywhere, but then you went into people’s homes and it was a warm experience – meeting these people who had put pride and effort into their homes and bringing up their kids”.

Figure 1: Tom Hunter, Holly Street (1997)

Before being demolished, Hunter hosted an exhibition on the 19th floor, covering the whole room with his photos. Following the resident’s evictions from the estate, Hunter returned to the empty apartments capturing the anguish of departure in his series ‘Holly Street Voids’. Emphasising the fundamental disruption, Hunter symbolises the empty tower blocks as a paradigm failure in Britain’s social housing policies in photographing the slowly decaying and vacant rooms. Almost dystopian the images take on even more poignancy, given the idealistic utopian vision the tower blocks once been created under (Figure 2).

In the 1960s British architects hoped to learn from the mistakes of the 1920s and 1930s with the invention of new architectural forms that sought to recreate the social fabric of working-class communities. Taking influence from Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier they favoured a more modernist vision of 20th century living; the ‘streets in the sky’ were born. Made up of endless footbridges that connected blocks of apartments, the intention was to recapture the convivial nature of the historic streets and neighbourhoods that had once sat below. For all their good intentions, their application proved disastrous. Built on an inhumane scale, the tower blocks were high-density ill-equipped homes with poorly designed communal areas that hindered any likelihoods of residents building any sense of social capital. It’s often cited, that London suffered more damage as a result of property development and misguided councils in the 1960s, than Hitler had managed to inflict during the whole of the war.

Figure 2: Tom Hunter, Holly Street Voids (1998)

In 2017, Hunters series was exhibited at V&A’s Museum of Childhood. Entitled ‘Searching for Ghosts’, Hunter collaborates with fellow artist James Mackinnon and photographer Mike Seabourne exploring social housing in East London. Working with local residents who had lived in the area for over ninety-years they present an intergenerational project that shared stories of East London communities. Today only one tower remains at Holly Street, as Hunter explains; “They wanted to knock down all four, but the old-age pensioners were very vocal and said: ‘We want to live in the tower blocks, we like the views’. They loved the fact they could get a lift and the community feel. They thought it was much safer, which was completely the opposite of what I thought they would say.”

 Built between 1966 and 1971, the estate became a key target for Tony Blair’s regeneration programme; having lived nearby in Mapledene Road while growing up. On the 2nd June 1997, a month after his landslide victory, he made his first public speech at Southwark’s Aylesbury Estate; “I have chosen this housing estate for a very simple reason. For 18 years, the poorest people in our country have been forgotten by the government. They have been left out of Government except for the purpose of blaming them. I want that to change. There will be no forgotten people in the Britain I want to build. For a generation of young men, little has come to replace the third of all manufacturing jobs that have been lost. Behind the statistics lie households where three generations have never had a job. There are estates where the biggest employer is the drugs industry, where all that is left of the high hopes of the post-war planners is derelict concreate”.

In order to rescue its most marginalised communities and seize the ‘New Britain’ it proclaimed New Labour sought to create ‘a different kind of community’ that would integrate them into a new globalised economy. In the same way Thatcher used the field of housing as a vehicle to enact her roll back of the state, Blair seized upon it to carry out his vision of the future as he embraced the new globalised economy that had shut so many previous communities out. This social exclusion through a lack of access to employment and recourses, as well as the ability to compete resulted in the convergence of the ‘problem estate’. This short-hand analysis would define Britain’s neighbourhoods as areas of unskilled individuals where economic inactivity had resulted in collective cultural behaviours ill befitting of employability.

‘Derelict concrete’ estates such as Holly Street and Aylesbury became potent examples of the growing stigmatisation towards Britain’s left behind neighbourhoods. Portrayed as a crime hotspot, to many Aylesbury Estate is most recognisable from Channel Four’s 2004 ident. Embodying every trope of urban decay from graffiti-ridden walls and littered walkways, the ident presented a threatening dystopian vision of its ‘streets in the sky’. It’s important to note however, that Aylesbury was less a ‘problem estate’ but rather an estate – like many others – that had problems. A sentiment that was shared by its residents. Being one of the poorest inner-city areas of the capital it had come to house a proportion of mostly black and ethnic minority communities; as well as being used as reception area for refugees and asylum seekers. Rejecting the media portrayals, they produced a more positive representation of the estate, highlighting the diverse social fabric of the community. As many argued, the estates problems didn’t lie within its individuals but in the years of poor upkeep and neglect; “Our lived experience of crime on the Estate does not match the myth – and this is borne out by the statistics. We need to counter these pernicious negative stereotypes. We are not going to be bullied into giving up good sound insulation, light, views and space because of exterior neglect and delays in re-housing growing families due to current housing scarcity”.

Despite refuting their community’s portrayal, the ‘troubled estate’ myth was important as it gave justification for the social engineering – the idea of mixed communities - that lay the heart of New Labour’s vision. By proposing a mixture of housing tenures, which critically included private ownership, New Labour believed that the injection of affluent middle-class owner occupiers would ‘lift’ estates benefiting them as a whole. Controversially it resulted in the demolishment of council homes that were then only partially replaced; in fewer numbers and less secure as they were completely unaffordable to those who needed them most. Aylesbury’s tenants rejected the proposed scheme fearing as much that it would lead to a middle-class takeover resulting in the reduction of space standards and diminished rights under new landlords. Understandably, they did not trust the council. In 1999 Southwark councils Director of Regeneration Fred Manson sparked fierce controversy after claiming that ‘social housing generates people on low incomes coming in and that generates poor school performances, middle-class people stay away’. For many it was easy to see it for what it was, as back-door privatisation. For the time being Aylesbury’s residents battle on.

Just a mile up the road, the Heygate Estate has been less fortunate. Demolished in 2011, residents were promised new homes as part of the regeneration. However, these were never built by the time they were ‘decanted’ from the estate in 2007 and of the previous 1,200 council homes, zero remain. Of the estate’s 1,034 households formerly renting from the council, now only 216 remain. Of the 2,535 homes that are now owned by the Lend Lease Group, only seventy-nine are social rented. Heygate Estate’s regeneration programme reflects a social issue that has hung over inner London for decades. With councils desperate to generate income while being surrounded by high priced properties, it’s hard to dispute it as nothing more than social cleansing.

It’s important to note that this isn’t a modern problem in London. In an ever-modernising 1960s Britain, the juxtaposing realities of the growing affluence and the surviving slums was ever more convoluted. For a country that was re-establishing itself as a progressive island of collectivist thinking, how could it carry on justifying such an archaic form of living. With a broad consensus towards the welfare state still felt, the politics of housing was once again brought to the forefront of daily political rhetoric. The general view held by many politicians was that in order to rid the cities of its slums they therefore had to build new housing both rapidly and on an unprecedented scale. Faced with growing waiting lists and a reduction in inner-city building sites, this led to many Londoners being rehoused in suburban estates on the capital’s peripheries. Known as the ‘London overspill’, this choice was one that was often unwillingly imposed upon them as it led to the break-up of support networks through that of the extended family.

 The irony of New Labour’s ‘mixed communities’ scheme is that council estates have always been mixed communities that are home to people from all walks of life. While they disproportionately house many of London’s poorest citizens they are far from the ‘ghettoised’ caricature that is promoted by the media. There is of course a case to be made for the ‘mixed communities’ initiative. After all it was Nye Bevan himself who preached of the importance of council estates not becoming ‘colonies of low-income people’. While well intentioned, as there was undoubtedly a need to implement beneficial reforms to the decaying estates, it’s clear that New Labour pursued a neo-liberal agenda. In deciding to favour the market over the many, they essentially left council housing defenceless to rising prejudice; both against the underlining values that sustained it and the very communities that lived within them. By failing to challenge these attacks they left council housing open to the greatest threat that was yet to come.

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 2

GENERAL A/N: Hi there!

This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate. 

A/N: Hi sweeties! I have received so much love already, this is really the best fandom ever! I hope you enjoy this character, you’ll be familiar with many parts and hopefully amused by Aoife’s twist on them, I do love her dearly. Also, I have decided to shorten the chapters cause they where way to long! Bacetti, Cate!

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb.  Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Not really, blood maybe?

Words: 2213

Chapter One.

Chapter Two: Ale and Princes

There was no sign of nuns through the corridors while she run down the stairs, weapons tinkling under the new dress and cloak Aethelflaed had gifted her.She had washed herself from the dirt and the blood of the battle and was now looking like a lady. A tired, sad lady. Aethelflaed was waiting outside with the warriors, all of them already on the back of their mounts; in her left hand, the Lady was holding the bridles of Aoife’s horse. “You are a strange nun” Uthred stated “why do you have weapons and a horse?” “They were gifted to me years ago.” Aoife simply answered, jumping easily on her mount and patting her on the neck. “They are expensive gift.” the other Dane noticed, and she turned to shoot him a weak smile. “Someone really cared for me.”

Aylesbury, Mercia

They arrived at Aylesbury when the sun was setting, and Aoife thanked God when the route opened in front of them and, among the white of the snow, appeared the stone walls of Aylesbury. They rode among the tents of the soldiers and, at the doors, they were welcomed by a line of guards, shields and spears pointed in their direction. Behind them stood the tallest and scariest man Aoife had ever seen, who pulled out his sword when they came closer. Next to him, Aoife saw a somehow attractive man, with dirty blonde hair and an unripe face; she guided her horse closer to Finan’s, feeling unsafe under his gaze. “That’s Aethelred. Lady Aethelflaed’s husband” Finan told her, noticing who her eyes were following. It was all clear now, Aethelflaed have told her stories about the weasel that her husband was. He was the one threatening her friend and Lady’s life. Once again Finan had to stop her from throwing her dagger at someone. “You need to stop being so impetuous.” He snorted with a half-smile “You will put us all in great danger sooner than later.” She grinned “He would not be missed.” “He is a Lord.” Finan insisted “Stay nice and quiet, would you?” They watched in silence Uthred and Aethelflaed discussing with that mountain of a man and Aethelred, probably explaining the situation. Aoife couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but she didn’t care. She had never seen the snow outside of the property of the Abbey and it was nice how soft it looked over the walls of the fortress. She didn’t notice Finan watching her, smiling at her amazement; and he didn’t notice Sithric and Osferth staring at him, amused. Finan was known and, made fun of, for quickly fall in love with women and that pretty warrior nun was no exception, but Osferth was worried for the young lady’s feelings; Finan was also one to love you during the course of one night and forget about you the morning after. However, Aoife was innocent but no fool, and the monk was sure enough that she would reject his attempts. Or at least he hoped so.

It was decided that the outlaw Uthred and his companions could pass, but they had to leave their weapons outside. Finan tried to protest, but his words were ignored by the Lord, while his guard repeated the order slower, as to mock Finan’s intelligence. Guards were sent to collect their weapons and Aoife didn’t like the way her guard was watching her as a prey. “You done?” she asked harshly when his eyes fell on the modest neckline of her dress. He quickly left her side with a small bow and behind her back she heard the Dane, whose name was Sithric she had discovered, laughing. “You have a temper, nun” and he walked with her through the gates.

They were left as enemies outside the hall, Aethelflaed nice enough to choose to stay with them and not to feast with her family. Aoife, at her side, soon found out that she wasn’t the only one with a temper problem; Finan, who she was sure had a desire to die, not only stood his ground to the huge warrior, but also made fun of his orders. The men did not seem intimidated, though; he smiled menacingly to the Irishman and patted him on the chest. “Steapa!” Uthred intervened “Food and ale would be appreciated.” The warrior agreed and turned to enter the hall. “And Steapa! Good food!” Finan added, under the amused looks of his companions “Meat! And lots of ale.” Uthred pushed him playfully “He will have your head one day.” “He just has to try.”

Under the supervision of Steapa himself, the diverse group of outlaws and ladies were drinking and eating at the alehouse. Aoife had never drunk ale before and she was quite enjoying the sweet and earthy taste of the beverage that she was gulping down. “You should slow down.” Osferth suggested, over the chatter of the others “It is not the strongest, but it will confuse your thoughts.” She smiled sweetly “Thank you, Brother.” She had just discovered that Osferth was a bastard child of Alfred and she did know how it felt like to be an unwanted consequence of illicit love. She decided that he deserved to know that he was not alone and that there was nothing to be ashamed of. “Osferth” she called softly, and the monk turned to her with a smile “I just wanted you to know that I too am the bastard of a Lord and a maid. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have claimed a family of your own. A family of bad smelling, brutish men, sure, but still a family.” The monk smiled widely and squeezed lightly her hand “I sure do. Thank you.” “That was very sweet.” a voice whispered in her hear. She turned around and almost brushed the tip of her nose on Finan’s. The man was sitting very close to her; she could smell the ale in his breath, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He was much taller than her, and he had dropped his head on his close fist to look at her. His eyes were not hungry, but curious and perhaps even sweet. He was so unbelievably handsome that she found herself at loss of words. She didn’t have to worry however, because who she assumed was a young Lord approached Steapa telling that an approximation to a Witan had been gathered and they were required. None of them knew what an approximation to a Witan was but they all emptied their cups and quickly followed Steapa inside the hall. It was a large room, warmed by a fire that burnt right in the centre. The floor was made of wood, the wall of stones. Aethelred was sprawled on his throne, at his left stood a young man and, against the walls the men of the Witan, priests and lords in their heavy cloaks, watching them enter the room with stern faces. Not a warm welcome. She didn’t need Aethelred’s comment to notice the absence of King Alfred; she had never met him, but she had heard great stories about him, and closing her eyes she could create an image of what it should look like. She was disappointed by his absence. “I am here in place of the King. I’m here to speak for the King.” the young boy stated, and Aoife could easily assume that he was Aethelflaed’s younger brother, Edward, the atheling of Wessex. Weirdly, all Aoife could think of was that he looked something like Osferth. Aethelflaed was invited by her husband to say what she had come to say. The men of the Witan received with suspicious her accusations of Haesten, who was a declared ally of Wessex. When the Lady explained how Haesten had threatened her life and Uthred had saved her, the one questioning her was her own husband. “I am at a loss, how is it that Uthred knew of this danger? How is it that he knew exactly where to find you?” “An irrelevant question.” Aethelflaed commented coldly; Finan and Aoife made eye contact and they had to look away to not burst laughing. A man of the Witan, old and unpleasant to the eye and the ear, supported Aethelred’s suspects with impossible stories of Uthred’s betrayal, about him planning Aethelflaed’s killing with Haesten, all to earn her trust and get once again close to King Alfred. It was such a fool story that Aoife couldn’t imagine anyone believing it. She couldn’t be more wrong. “A spy?” Aethelred insisted. “An assassin, even.” the man replied. Neither her nor Finan were smiling anymore, it wasn’t going as expected and Uthred’s patience was visibly running thin. “Should have expected nothing different.” he said, his eyes rolling in exasperation. Surprisingly, in the defence of the outlaw, Aethelflaed was joined by her brother. “Seems rather grand strategy, Lord Aethelred” he stated, turning to the Lord, “and for what?” “It’s here, among us.” the young lord, the one that had guided them to the hall, answered. “And under guard.” the atheling replied bluntly, “Then let us get to the truth of the matter.” an imperious voice resounded throughout the room. King Alfred had entered the room, and, despite his sickly appearance, Aoife could feel the power he exuded. He was surely a man of strong, uncompromising mind and where he lacked with physical strength, he more than compensated with great presence and spirit.

Uthred had then explained his intention to the King; in exchange of him saving Aethelflaed, he asked for one thousand men to attack Beamfleot and defeat Haesten. He was clever enough to point out that the fall of Beamfleot and Haesten would mean a great loss for the Dane army and consequently ensure peace in Mercia and Wessex, for a while at least. Prince Edward spoke in favour of the agreement, but Alfred, supported by the men of the Witan, decided not to trust the outlaw and declined his request. He then invited the Dane to leave as the free man he was in Mercia, but he would remain an outlaw of Wessex.

***

The group found itself once again sat around a table outside the alehouse. They weren’t pleased by the outcome of the Witan. For what Aoife could understand, it was crucial to reclaim the Dane seer, Skade. It had something to do with a curse she had casted on Uthred and that was apparently putting them all in great danger. Aoife was no one to discharge others’ beliefs; on the contrary it made her appreciate Uthred more. He had saved Aethelflaed despite the danger that his choice entailed. She was quite surprised by how much she was enjoying the warriors’ company; they were kinder that she expected and, usually, it was a pleasure to spend time with them. That moment was the exception, but she could not blame them for being quiet and angry. They had been left without hope nor plans; and even if she was confident that they would soon find a way to reclaim the witch, she understood their fears. She was the first to notice the priests approaching, behind them came Prince Edward. He sat down next to his sister, Aoife on his other side. He shot her a questioning look and she gracefully bowed her head; but it was clear that he had more urgent issues to address. Osferth, at Aoife’s other side, excused himself and left before she could even turn around; it was clear the situation was paining him greatly. Words of curtesy were exchange between the people; Aoife, who didn’t know neither the priests nor the prince, sat in silence. She could not help but laugh, however, when the priest, who had taken Osferth place next to her, kindly stated that he couldn’t waste his prayers for Finan, being that he already belonged to the devil. The Irishman’s eyes moved from the priest to Aoife, and a corner of his mouth curved upwards in a smile, hidden by his bushy beard. “Could well be right.” he admitted. The other priest urged to get to the point, considering the dangerous position the prince had put himself in; the statement caught the attention of the entire table. The first priest asked them all to appear uninterested, for the safety of the presents, and, as strange as it sounded, a heavy silence fell on the group. “How… how many men does Haesten have?” Edward finally asked. Aoife watched hope return on Uthred and Aethelflaed’s faces. “Maybe as many as one thousand.” Uthred answered. “And a fortress.” the prince recollected. “Beamfleot.” Edward asked how Uthred could be sure to defeat him when it seemed impossible to do. Uthred pondered his words, then answered calmly that a siege would require the sacrifice of three thousand souls; Haesten, however, wouldn’t resisted the opportunity to kill him and would follow him outside. Fighting on open ground would increase their chances of winning. Prince Edward took his time to think about it, listening patiently to the warriors’ advices. He then decided, with a proud smile on his young face, to grant Uthred five hundred men. He swore to be there, the day of the attack, hidden in the wood with his army of half a thousand men.

Aoife hand run on the blade of her sword.

Chapter Three.

[angel-princess-anna]

Downton Abbey Filming Locations

This is somewhat complete list of the DA filming locations from S1-6. Some of this information comes from the various companion books (or was later confirmed by them), and some is from the info we got via social media as they were filming it.

Hoping that the cut/read more/’Keeping Reading” works on mobile, because this is a long list! 

Appearing in multiple series:

- Highclere Castle: Downton Abbey + the courtyard, the stables, cottages exteriors (including the Bateses'), cricket pitch  - Ealing Studios in London: servants' hall, kitchen, etc.; various interiors - Bampton, Oxfordshire: Downton village exterior shots. The Grantham Arms, Duck and Dog, Mrs Patmore's B&B exterior - Church Gate House, Bampton: Crawley House (exterior) - Hall Place, Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire: Crawley House (interior) - Ham House in Surrey: Crawley House (kitchen) - Bampton Library: Downton Cottage Hospital (exterior but also interior in S6) - St. Mary's, Bampton: St. Michael's and Downton church cemetery - Byfleet Manor: Dower House - Horsted-Keynes Station, owned by the Blueway Railway in Sussex: Downton Station [used in A LOT of other period dramas] - West Wycombe Park: Rosamund's house interior 

First Appearing in Series 1

- St. James Park, London (playing itself in S1E7, S5E8) - Royal Hospital Chelsea: Duke of York Barracks (S1E7)

First Appearing in Series 2

- Akenham, Suffolk, reenactment fields owned by Taff Gillingham: Battle scenes in France - Old Forge, Shilton: The Red Lion (S2E3) - Waddesdon Manor, Waddesdon, Aylesbury: Haxby Park (S2E6) - The Swan Inn, Swinbrook: The inn where Tom and Sybil went (S2E7) - Crown Court, Surrey County Hall, Surrey: York Courthouse (S2CS, S6E5) - Stocker's Farm House, Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire: Mr Mason's farm (before moving to Yew Tree) (interior) - Colstrope Farm, Buckinghamshire: Mr Mason's farm (before moving to Yew Tree (exterior) - Hall Barn, Buckinghampshire: Loxley

First Appearing in Series 3

- Lincoln Castle, Lincoln, Lincolnshire: York Prison (S3 prison scenes) - Grey's Court, Rotherfield Greys, Henley-on-Thames: Eryholme a.k.a. Downton Place (S3E3) - Rules Restaurant, Covent Garden (played itself in S3E7, S5E8, S6E3) - Inveraray Castle, Argyll: Duneagle Castle and estate (S3CS) - Wrotham Park: a few interiors in Duneagle Castle [the room Anna practices in, the billiards room] (S3CS)

First Appearing in Series 4

- St. Pancras Station (S4E1) - Cogges Manor Farm (a living history museum depicting rural life in Oxfordshire): Farmland, Yew Tree Farm (S4-S6) - Criterion Restaurant, Piccadilly (played itself in S4E1; S6E6) - Cheptow Villas: Gregson's flat (S4; in S6 they were at Ealing) - Lincoln Inn Fields: Outdoor London Scenes (S4) - The Tarred Yarn Store, Historic Docks, Chatham, Kent: The workhouse were Mrs Hughes finds Grigg (S4E1) - Historic Docks, Chatham, Kent: Outdoor York scene and exterior of dance hall (S4E2) - Hoxton Hall, Hackney, London: interior of dance hall in York (S4E2) - The Savile Club, Mayfair, London: The Lotus Club (S4E4) - The Langdon Down Museum: Kitchen of the Ritz (S4E5)  - York House, Twickenham: Interior of the Netherby Hotel and Restaurant, Thirsk (S4E6) - Hambledon Farm: The pig barn on the Downton estate (S4E7) - Syon House, the London home of the Duke of Northumberland: Restaurant (S4E8) - Cleveland Row, London: Grantham House (exterior) (S4CS, S5E8) - Basildon Park, Berkshire: Grantham House (interior) (S4CS, S5E8); Hyde Park (S4CS) - Royal Holloway: Gallery was used for art gallery with the Summer Exhibition (S4CS) - Embassy Night Club: playing itself (S4CS) - Lancaster House: Buckingham Palace (S4CS) - Goldsmith's College: Buckingham Palace (S4CS; I think the reception part?) - Kensington Gardens: the picnic at Albert Memorial (S4CS) - West Wittering Beach, Sussex: Brighton Beach (S4CS)

First Appearing in Series 5

- Burghclere: Schoolhouse (S5, S6) - Kingston Bagerprize House, Vale of the White Horse, Wiltshire: Cavenham Park (Lord Merton's house) (S5E2, S6) - Corinthia Hotel London: Grand Hotel in Liverpool (S5E2,3) - National Gallery in London (playing itself in S5E3) - The Strand Palace Hotel, London (or the above is the Strand area of London): Tony's apartment in Albany (S5E4) - Peter Pan statue at Kensington Gardens: Playing itself (S5E4) - St. Marylebone Parish Church, London: St. Mary Magdelene's in York (S5E5) - Simpson's-in-the-Strand: Restaurant playing itself (S5E5) - 2 Temple Place: Craxton Hall Registry Office (S5E8) - Alnwick Castle, Northumblerand (and Hulne Park, the surrounding land): An exterior shot was used for the exterior of the women's prison in York (S5CS); Exterior and interior used for Brancaster Castle, the grounds as well (S5CS); shops in Thirsk (S6E8) - St. Mary's, Charlbury (in the Cotswolds): The area near where Carson and Mrs Hughes look at houses (S5CS) - The Duchess High School, Bailiffgate, Northumberland: The Crown and Anchor pub in York (S5CS)

First Appearing in Series 6

- Ditchley Park near Charlbury, in Oxfordshire: Mallerton House (S6E1) - Lincoln Inn Fields, in near Wildy & Sons bookshop: Exterior of The Sketch offices (S6, S6E3 in particular) - Lacock, Wiltshire: Malton Market (S6E2) - Royal Automobile Club: I believe playing itself (S6E4) - Hampton Court Palace: Playing itself, basically, or just as a park (S6E5) - Thorney Island, Chichester: Catterick (S6E5, where they were testing cars) - Brooklands Museum: Brooklands Race Track, crowd scenes, the stands, and starting area, anything with signage (S6E7) - Goodwood Racerway: Brooklands Race Track; the main track the race happens on, and the crash site (S6E7) - Beamish Transport Museum: Talbot & Branson Motors

[sparkybuddyfilm-blog]

#screenshot from our #animated #shortfilm #film the #battle of #aylesbury watch it here: https://youtu.be/2nvQn__n7-s #rotscoping #traditionalanimation #sparkybuddyproductions #sparkybuddy #likeforlike #spamforspam #like4like #followforfollow #pleasefolow #follow4follow #filmcompany #actor #director #animator

[goalkeeperwarz]

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Stephen posted a video to Instagram: Sunday mornings at Newport Pagnell Town FC The rock paper scissor Warriorz of the Week battle If you want to join the gang book your free taster session @ https://ift.tt/2S2DCW2 #bringontherevolution #noegositallaboutthekids #warrioroftheweek #freeglovesfor5wotwcard Book your free weekly taster session at https://ift.tt/2S2DCW2 #goalkeeper #goalkeepers #goalkeeping #keeper #goal #goals #coach #coaching #train #training #football #footballplayer #field #goalie #footie #ball #training #active #team #sport #sports #buckingham #buckinghamshire #miltonkeynes #hertfordshire #aylesbury #wheathampstead https://ift.tt/34cmGTA

[suevincent]

On the Doorstep: Whitchurch ~ Wood and Stone

On the Doorstep: Whitchurch ~ Wood and Stone

We left the earthworks of Bolebec castlein peace… which is more than can be said of Oliver Cromwell’s army when they passed this way during the Civil War. The Battle of Aylesbury, between Cromwell’s forces and Prince Rupert of the Rhine, was fought at Holman’s Bridge, just a few miles down the road, on 1st November 1642. The story goes that around this time, Cromwell gave orders to destroy the…