#Datchet

[illustratus]

Windsor Castle from Datchet Lane on a rejoicing night, 1768

by Paul Sandby

[arthurkeating01]

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[world-of-wales]

✦ UPCOMING ENGAGEMENTS

The President of the French Republic Emmanuel Macron and Mrs Brigitte Macron, will pay a state visit to the United Kingdom from Tuesday 8th July to Thursday 10th July 2025 as the guests of The King and Queen

The Prince and Princess of Wales will take part in the visit

TUESDAY - 8TH JULY :

On arrival in the United Kingdom, the President of the French Republic and Mrs Brigitte Macron will be greeted by the Prince and Princess of Wales at RAF Northolt.

The Prince and Princess of Wales will travel with the President and Mrs Macron to Windsor for the formal welcome by The King and Queen at the Royal Dais on Datchet Road, Windsor

Thereafter, the Prince and Princess of Wales will take part in a carriage procession through the town to Windsor Castle.

They will then view the military rank and march past with the other members of the party at the Quadrangle of Windsor Castle.

Afterwards, they will attend a luncheon in the State Dining Room before viewing a special exhibition of items relating to France from the Royal Collection in the Green Drawing Room.

In the evening, the King and Queen will give a state banquet at Windsor Castle which will be attended by the Members of the Royal Family.

[thenameswinterfics]

THE BLUE BUTTERFLY

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 5 Summary: The summary sucks, but I'll try. After returning from Datchet, Sihtric spends some free time with you, and a group of blue butterflies catch your attention. Word Count: 4K (sorry-) Warnings: Fluff, missing moments, mention of word "whore". There are some minor spoilers from "The Lords of the North" book, so if you're planning on reading them I would advise against reading certain parts. A/N: After being a silent reader for a while and enjoying every exhistent fics on this character, I've decided to write one of my own. The inspiration comes from this post, and after weeks of venting on my terrible writing and fighting the urge of deleting everything, I wrote this! It came out different from what I had imagined, but I'm slightly satisfied. A special thanks to @sihtricfedaraaahvicius, the owner of the linked post, who gently passes me the whole passage from the book, and to @whitedarkmoonflower , @lord-aldhelm and @sylasthegrim for being my amazing beta readers and cheerleaders. I love you, really.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by @whitedarkmoonflower Dividers by @saradika-graphics

READ IT ON AO3

“She says she loves me, lord,” Sihtric told Uhtred in a quiet voice, careful not to raise it too much as they slipped into the forest in the middle of the night. 

The air grew cold and thick, the full moon rising brightly into the sky, its pale rays faintly illuminating the surroundings as they filtered through the thick bank of fog that enveloped the area like a heavy blanket. The silence of the night was occasionally broken by the chirping of crickets, the hooting of an owl and the sound of leaves and trampled wood. Felted footsteps crossed the woods, a sign that Uhtred and his men were quietly approaching the village of Datchet.

Everyone was silent and cautious, except Sihtric, who was strangely absent-minded and rather distracted, the thought of your gentle smile and soft touch staining his mind like a woodworm eating the pulp of wood.

"Of course she says that," Uhtred replied quickly, hoping that his disinterested answer would quell Sihtric's desire and return his focus to the mission. But it didn’t have the desired effect; on the contrary, it encouraged Sihtric to speak again.

“I swear. She says she loves me!” the Dane retorted, his voice slightly raised as if he had found the courage to defend his feelings against his Lord, to whom he had sworn his life and his sword, for the very first time.

“Sihtric, she’s a whore,” Uhtred said, a hint of irritation could be heard in his voice.

“No,” again, Sihtric raised his voice, which grew brighter as he continued. “She’s past that,” he added with a newfound confidence, words that were far from a lie.

Sihtric had never been loved, nor had he ever felt it, an emotion of which he knew only the name and little of the meaning. How could he ever have understood such a noble thing when he was born and raised in an environment where there was no love? When the only person willing to give him love had been taken from him by a father who wanted nothing to do with him?

He lived in Dunholm, a fortress that was more of a prison than a real home. Kjartan had never felt a shred of compassion for his bastard son: to him, Sihtric was nothing more than an expendable life, a useless existence to be thrown to the dogs, as he had done to his mother, had Tekil not pleaded for his life and taken him into his servitude.

Sihtric had felt his mental chains crumble on the day he offered his life and sword to Uhtred, and vanish on the day Kjartan died, shattered by the endless blows Ragnar had dealt him while taking Dunholm. But of all the emotions that overwhelmed him that day, the void, the emptiness that the absence of love had brought him was hard to assuage. A void that he tried to fill by paying women for pleasure, hoping that one of them would step forward and mend his wounded heart, feeling that love he was craving for almost all his life. And it was in one of his nights of seeking affection from women that he found you.

When you first approached him, he was completely overwhelmed by the way you carried yourself: your ethereal beauty, your soft voice, your long curls and your big, shining eyes, which drew him to you like a moth to a flame, made him wonder why a woman as beautiful as you had chosen this kind of work. The aura that surrounded you both attracted and intimidated him, and Sihtric thought he was looking at Freya herself instead of a mortal woman. 

You took him in your room and both made love that night, soon to be followed by many others, and each time it was the purest of experiences. His rough and trembling hands were soothing against your body while his lips explored every inch of it, savouring you with the utmost respect and devotion as he saw how surprisingly responsive your body was to his touch. Soft kisses and whispers of love parted as your naked forms joined as one, two seemingly different souls in a desperate search for each other, feeding on a love you both sought by others. You desperately clasped at each other when you both reached your high, the bliss of the act made you both dizzy and satisfied. 

Sihtric fell in love with you that night and already thought of you as his wife, and when on a cold winter's day a soft "I love you" escaped your lips while reaching your peak, the Dane warrior asked for your hand, tearing you away from the job that robbed you of the dignity you deserved.

“What she loves is your silver,” another voice, Finan, joined the conversation, and soon a chorus of jokes and laughter from the other warriors followed, mocking the naivety of the young Dane. But Sihtric was not to be deterred, and with the most serious expression his face could show, he looked at Uhtred and spoke again, his words echoing in the silence of the forest.

“I wish to marry her.” 

Again, Uhtred chose to ignore his words, making Sihtric’s impatience growing inside him. 

“Lord, the lady said…” 

"The lady said she loves you, but she seems to be making good use of all the silver I gave you." Uhtred blurted out, not raising his voice too much. He could not see him, but could feel Sihtric's jaw clenching and his eyes almost looking down at his feet, as if he had been caught in the act and was awaiting punishment. 

“I will help you find a wife,” he told the Dane in a lower voice, never looking over his shoulders, ��For now, I wish you to kill Danes and survive the night.”

Then a piercing scream from some of the villagers broke the silence of the night. Finan, the first in line, raised his hand to signal a halt, and Uhtred, Sihtric and the other warriors followed. They spotted two Danes resting by a makeshift campfire behind them, and having successfully neutralised them, Uhtred ordered them to hide and wait, not to attack until they were given the order. Sihtric stood near a huge tree, his back pressed against the rough wood, clutching his weapons and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword as he felt the adrenaline of battle coursing through his veins. 

The night was long, and the threat was far from over, but he was indeed following his lord’s advice to survive the night.

Because he knew that after this battle, he would return home, and would find a safe place in your arms.

A new day dawned and winter quietly took its leave of the Saxon lands. The pale rays of the morning sun warmed the earth like an embrace, peeling away the layers of snow and allowing nature to be reborn, blooming with all its colourful vegetation and the intoxicating scent of plants and flowers. Even the animals awoke from hibernation and the warmth of the spring sun allowed them to roam freely in the wild, hunting to feed their young, exploring new places to settle or simply returning like the flock of birds in the sky. 

Spring came to Coccham too, and soon the village enthusiastically welcomed the arrival of the new cycle of life. And you celebrated it by sitting by the river, enjoying the warmth of spring, closing their eyes and feeling the wind dance around them, gently ruffling their long curls. The scent of the lake, a mixture of musk, wet wood and grass, filled your nostrils and you let out a long sigh as the bare skin of your feet dipped into the water. This was the time of day you free yourself from your chores and spend some time with your thoughts. 

When you first set foot in Coccham, you never felt the struggle to find a home of your own, as Sihtric insisted on welcoming you into his own house, which soon became your little love nest. Uhtred had not yet given you his blessing to marry, but in Sihtric's eyes you were already his lovely wife. He used to spend his silver at the village market, buying you all sorts of jewellery to adorn your pale skin and enhance your beauty. And when his silver ran out, he gave you his arm rings and spoils of war, a reward Uhtred gave him when he thought his services worthy. 

The time you spent together was sadly short, as his lord always managed to fill his days with arduous tasks or sending him out on patrol, but as evening fell and you waited for him to come home, he never failed to show you how empty his day was without you. You could read all the love and devotion he felt for you in his timid, mismatched eyes, looking at you like a goddess descended among mere mortals. His calloused hands would always find your soft cheeks, brushing your flesh and lower lips with his thumb before giving you a desperate kiss, feeding on your lips like a hungry predator after a lean day. 

And when there were evenings when Sihtric came home, haunted by the thought of leaving you behind while he was on the battlefield, he would sit by your side by the fire, his forehead pressed against yours as hot tears crossed his sharp face, and kiss every inch of your exposed skin as if it were the last thing he could do before reaching Valhalla. You would spend the night cuddling in bed, crying in each other's arms before sleep took you both, and you would wake in the morning with emptiness wrapped around your arms. 

Uhtred had left weeks ago, taking Sihtric and the rest of his warriors and sailing to Datchet to secure the Thames for King Alfred. You would usually spend your time in Gisela's company, helping her with the household chores and keeping an eye on her children. But the restless night you were facing had left you with a throbbing headache and a bad mood, and you didn't feel the need for human companionship as much as the immaterial one of your thoughts and emotions.

You had learned over time how stressful and heartbreaking it could be to live with a warrior,  and watch him slip silently from your embrace at the crack of dawn. Loneliness had become your silent companion during those long waits, leaving your heart bleeding with pain and your mind filled with imaginary thoughts that would eventually haunt you in your sleep, tossing and turning as false scenarios formed in your mind, your breath itching in your dreams as you saw Sihtric lying lifeless on the ground, no weapons in his hands in your worst nightmares. 

You were jolted from your thoughts by two strong arms wrapped around your waist and a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your bare feet came out of the water and were soon planted on the floor, and before you could react the same arms wrapped around your waist, enveloping your petite body in a warm embrace, your back pressed against a broad chest. 

Fear clouded your mind as you thought you were trapped under the clasp of a filthy man who wanted nothing from you but the pleasure your body could provide, but when you felt the man's head pressed against your shoulder, you shivered as you recognised the touch of his soft lips pressed against the side of your neck. 

"My love," the soft and familiar voice called to you in a sweet chant, soon loosening its grip to allow you to turn around. And it was then that you recognised him: his lean face and sharp jaw, decorated with scars that crossed his forehead and one of his cheekbones, his dark hair cut short at the sides and combed in three braids, the kohl liner around his eyes that seemed to harden a tender and watchful gaze, and that unmistakable tattoo that ran from one side of his head to his neck. All features that could only belong to Sihtric, the Dane warrior who stole your heart from the first moment he laid eyes on you. 

You jumped on him, wrapping your neck around your arms and pecking his face with small kisses. Your sudden move caused him to step back, struggling to find the balance and not fall ruinously to the ground.

“You are back!” you happily stated, stepping back a little to admire him. “And without a scratch!”

“I will always find a way back to you,” Sihtric spoke quietly, a small smile forming on his lips as he rested his forehead on yours, allowing his lungs to fill with your scent, a mixture of myrtle, rosemary and wild flowers. 

“I looked for you all over the village, I thought I would have found you there,” he continued, taking one of your hands and pressing his lips on your slender fingers, enjoying the softness of your skin.

“I was in no mood to spend my time in the company of others,” you confessed lightheartedly, locking your gaze on his. "Besides, where could a defenceless lady go but to fantasise about her lover warrior by the lake?" 

Your witty reply made Sihtric chuckle and shake his head, grabbing your tiny waist with his large hands and pulling you close to him. But when your foreheads touched, too intoxicated by your inviting scent, his smile fell and two dark, troubled eyes extinguished the light they had every time he was near you. A long sigh followed, and you could tell that his mind was tortured as well. 

"Sihtric?" you called quietly, the light touch of your fingers on his cheek bringing him out of his thoughts. "Is something troubling you? Are you hurt?"

"No," was his quiet reply, whispered so softly as to be almost inaudible, and before you could question him further, he wrapped you in a long and desperate embrace, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breathing became shallow and erratic, and judging by his slight trembling, he was on the verge of tears.

“No other woman will be able to replace you. No one,” the Dane thought aloud, preventing you from replying back when his trembling lips captured yours in a needy and desperate kiss, storming your mind with questions you fear there can be no answers to. 

Later that day, the sun was high in the sky and a cloudless blue expanse rose over the village. You could feel the sun's rays hitting your skin with an unpleasant heat, but you were glad that there was a soothing breeze in the air, its cool touch like a balm to your skin, which had become slightly red from prolonged exposure to the sun.

Everyone was busy welcoming King Alfred to Coccham, followed by Lord Odda, some soldiers and thengs, and his small army of priests and monks. When they retired to the main hall to discuss urgent matters, you took the opportunity to release Sihtric from his duties, as his presence was not required at that moment, and hand in hand you walked through the gates of Coccham, approached the small harbour and rested on the grass. 

When you went outside, Sihtric finally gave you all the answers he had been unable to give you before, too overwhelmed by his emotions: he told you of his mission and the time he had spent in Datchet, and of the many times he had asked Uhtred for permission to marry you, only to be met with indifference or veiled refusal. He even told you how he had proposed to arrange a suitable marriage for him, and the very thought of it made you both feel sick inside. 

It was no surprise to you that both the Daneslayer and his warriors frowned upon you; your old profession was a stain on your character that was difficult to wipe away. You were aware of the mischievous glances and veiled comments they made whenever you sat at the same table outside their tavern, to which you always responded with stiff lips and restraint, unlike Sihtric, who, dulled by the alcohol that brought out his dormant impulsiveness, threatened to make the square to anyone who dared offend you. It was your task to calm him down each time, assuring him that it was a temporary situation and that everyone would get used to your presence. But deep in your heart you knew it wouldn't be so.

You sat back in the grass, Sihtric's head in your lap, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the light breeze caressing his face. You stroked his uncombed hair gently, giggling at how soft his hair felt to the touch, while your eyes continued to scan the surroundings, focusing on the men coming and going from the small wooden dock, busy unloading goods from ships or docking others. Then you took your eyes off the water and sighed as you spotted a group of ducks swimming happily in the water, followed by a small group of adorable ducklings squawking loudly.

Suddenly your attention was drawn to a small group of butterflies fluttering along the shore, slowly dispersing into the air, creating a spectacular display of colour. Your jaw dropped slightly, mesmerised by the delicate dance these insects were performing in the air, some allowing the wind to gently transport them from the nearest flowers and feed on their nectar, others resting gracefully on the grass and stretching their bright blue wings a little before continuing their dance. A pleasant warm spread across your chest, feeling a sense of peace and happiness crossing your face. 

“They are a beautiful sight,” a kneaded voice brought you back to reality, feeling Sihtric slightly shifting from your lap. His brown eye was open, looking at the butterflies, while his other one was covered by his forearm.

“Indeed,” you spoke softly, gently pressing your lips on his forehead. You could see his cheeks flushing with the brightest red. “They truly are.” 

One of the butterflies left its group, approaching you. Sihtric leanend one of his arms, stretching one of his fingers to welcome the insect. He chuckled lightly when he felt your curious gaze over him, and soon his mismatched eyes were locked into yours.

“I have heard stories saying that blue butterflies are meant to bring luck,” he explained quietly, his gaze now shifted again on the insect, which stood in midair, watching his finger. “The longer it stays on your finger, the longer your luck lasts.” 

Sihtric waited for the butterfly to pose on his finger, a hint of impatience growing in him as he secretly begged the insect to rest as long as possible and bring you both luck. But it chose not to rest, spreading its wings and turning its attention elsewhere. He let out a frustrated groan, which was greeted by your delicate laugh. Your voice was a melody to his ears. 

"Then I guess you have no luck," you said, a slight grin forming at the corner of your mouth, your hand continuing to rub Sihtric's hair in small, circular motions. Your reply caused Sihtric to move from where he was sitting on the grass and look at your face: his dark, loose hair seemed to soften his features, his two-toned eyes lit up at the sight of your smile, making his heart pound in his chest and his breath quicken. His trembling hands rested on your cheeks, rubbing them with the utmost care, afraid that you might break under his rough touch. 

"I am lucky, my lady," he whispered, resting his forehead on yours. "A little butterfly may not have given me luck, but the gods have given me you, a far greater blessing than any fleeting luck could provide." 

He slowly drew you closer, rubbing the tips of your noses and waiting for your permission. When you nodded softly, sighing at his soothing touch, he locked his lips to yours in a tender kiss, a light touch soon followed by deeper contact. He placed his hand on the nape of your neck, pressing urgently against it, rubbing your exposed flesh in slow, circular motions, his sudden movement making you tremble and a soft moan escaping your throat. 

As the kiss deepened and the heat of pleasure engulfed you both, you felt a gentle tickling crossing your hand, causing you to break the kiss. You looked down your hand and a gasp escaped from your lips.

"Sihtric, look!" you called, shaking his arm without hurting him too much, and when you were sure his gaze was fixed on you, you gently raised your hand to reveal the same butterfly as before peacefully perched on your finger. Words were superfluous to describe the surreal moment, and you both stood still, watching in amazement as its shiny wings closed and reopened, both of you secretly telling the insect to rest as much as it could. In this silent exchange of glances and thoughts, it was as if nature had intervened in your path, whispering promises of future serenity and joy amidst the chaos of the world. 

You felt Sihtric raising off the ground urgently, and without uttering a word he approached the gates. You gave him a puzzled look, stunned by his sudden move. “Where are you going?”

“To lord Uhtred,” Sihtric turned around and looked at you, a wide smile crossing his face. “I will ask his permission to marry you again.” 

“But lord Uhtred already gave his decision,” you replied back, slightly raising his voice as you saw him approaching the gates. 

“The blue butterfly.” he replied in a cheerful voice, pointing to the small insect still in your hand. “We have been blessed by luck. I will marry you, my love. I swear I will!” 

And it was at that moment that you saw his figure cross the gates and slowly disappear into the distance, leaving you alone. You let out a long sigh, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile, and fixed your gaze on the butterfly, which awkwardly spread its wings, leaving your finger behind before rejoining its group and disappearing into the air.  

That butterfly brought you luck. That was what Sihtric thought, while you continued to believe that Gisela's help was behind it all, when Uhtred finally gave his permission to marry you, on the condition that he complete a task for him. Sihtric came back to you, showering your face with soft and urgent kisses, his heart heavy at having to leave you again, but his spirit lifted at the thought that after this mission you would finally be his and his only. 

Fortunately, Sihtric didn't keep you waiting too long, for he returned from Skald's Hall a few days later, and by mutual agreement, a small and intimate wedding ceremony was held on Frigga's Day, according to Sihtric's religion and beliefs. His eyes could not stay in contact with yours for too long, your dazzling beauty sending shivers down his spine and dulling his senses, for he could still not believe that the gods had allowed him a glimpse of happiness by sending you on his path. After the exchange of your wedding rings and Sihtric's promise to be the devoted and loving husband you deserve, clutching his Mjolnir pendant in his hands, a kiss sealed the much awaited union, witnessed by the few present and the watchful eyes of the gods.

And when the two of you would sit in the same place years later with your stomach fertile with new life, a blue butterfly would rest on your outstretched finger, bringing good fortune and prosperity to your happy union for years to come.  

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[thewindsorindex]

French State Visit

Tuesday, 8th July

╰┈➤ˎˊ On Tuesday, 8 July, the Prince and Princess of Wales, on behalf of the King, will greet the President of the French Republic and Madame Macron at RAF Northolt at the start of their state visit to the UK.

╰┈➤ˎˊ TRH will travel with the Macrons to Windsor for the official welcome.

╰┈➤ˎˊ The King and Queen will formally welcome the President of the French Republic and Madame Macron at the royal dais on Datchet Road, Windsor. TM, their guests and the Prince and Princess of Wales will then travel in a carriage procession through the town to Windsor Castle.

╰┈➤ˎˊ Following lunch in the State Dining Room, joined by members of the Royal Family, the King and Queen will invite the President and Madame Macron to view a special exhibition of items relating to France from the Royal Collection in the Green Drawing Room.

╰┈➤ˎˊ In the evening, the King and Queen will give a state banquet at Windsor Castle for the President of the French Republic and Madame Macron at which members of the Royal Family will be present. The King and the President will deliver speeches at the beginning of the banquet.

Wednesday, 9th July

╰┈➤ˎˊ On the morning of the second day of the state visit, the President and Madame Macron will visit St George’s Chapel, Windsor, to lay flowers at the tomb of Queen Elizabeth II.

╰┈➤ˎˊ Before President Macron leaves Windsor the King will show him the Windsor Castle gardens. They will be joined by the Queen and Madame Macron to view a charabanc from the Royal Mews, which was gifted to Queen Victoria by King Louis-Philippe of France in 1844.

╰┈➤ˎˊ That evening the President of the French Republic and Madame Macron, joined by the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, will attend a banquet at Guildhall, given by the Lord Mayor and City of London Corporation.

[portrait-paintings]

Frances Brinley

Artist: John Smibert (American, 1688–1751)

Date: 1729

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY, United States

Description

Francis Brinley (1690–1765) was born in England but moved to Newport, Rhode Island in 1710 at the request of his grandfather. He eventually settled in Boston, where he married Deborah Lyde, granddaughter of Nathaniel Byfield. In 1719, he inherited a substantial tract of land in Roxbury upon which he built the elaborate Datchet House residence. Smibert painted this portrait in Boston in May of 1729. The background, an early instance of landscape in American painting, represents a view of Boston from Brinley's country home.

[onheirpodcast]

In 2014 the Berkshire town of Datchet was heavily hit by flooding. As the area is in the shadow of Windsor Castle, it wasn’t long before royals began to appear on the scene. Prince William and Prince Harry arrived for a clandestine trip at 6am, helping the military shift sandbags, but were spotted by the press around 11am. The visit was praised but also generated attention as the Princes were both unamused that their visit had been rumbled by the press. They both pushed the journalist who spotted them to put his notebook down and get involved, but when he tried to take them up on his offer he was stopped by royal aides for not having “appropriate clothing.”

[thenameswinter99]

WIP Wednesday

Another week, another tag game! Please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea!

Thank you @lord-aldhelm , @thelettersfromnoone and @whitedarkmoonflower (I saw your post and tagged myself lol) for the tag. 💜💜💜

Well… This time I have something to show you. It's the same fic I'm working on, with the only difference that… *I changed the introduction. I felt stuck and had to rewrite the first part, because some parts didn't fit into the story I wanted to write… yeah…

So, needless to say, here's the new introduction. Again, this story is in the early stages of writing, many things could change after further drafts (and hopefully not deleted like the parts I took out of the story and saved for later lol).

Here's an extract of the fic:

The air grew cold and thick, the full moon rising brightly into the sky, its pale rays faintly illuminating the surroundings as they filtered through the thick bank of fog that enveloped the area like a heavy blanket. The silence of the night was occasionally broken by the chirping of crickets, the hooting of an owl and the sound of leaves and trampled wood, a sign that Uhtred and his men were quietly approaching the village of Datchet. Everyone was quiet and cautious, except Sihtric, who was strangely absent-minded and rather distracted, the thought of your gentle smile and soft touch staining his mind like a woodworm eating the pulp of wood. "Of course she says that," Uhtred replied quickly, hoping that his disinterested answer would quell Sihtric's desire and return his focus to the mission. But it didn’t have the desired effect; on the contrary, it encouraged Sihtric to speak again. “I swear. She says she loves me!” the Dane retorted, his voice slightly raised as if he had found the courage to defend his thoughts against his Lord, to whom he had sworn his life and his sword, for the very first time.

Tagging... I don't know. If my silly post appears in your dash, consider yourself tagged!

[alvinbing]

Towing Service Slough

https://www.sbrecovery.co.uk/

At SB Recovery, we are your trusted choice for Slough vehicle recovery. Contact our experts today for a range of expert services including breakdown assistance in Slough, Windsor, Datchet.

[shohancis50]

How a migrant hotel brought racism to a quiet village near Windsor

Abhi is fed up with the racist abuse thrown at him on a daily basis while he works behind the counter in a small corner shop in Datchet, a mile and a half away from Windsor Castle. But the racism isn’t coming from far-right agitators or Middle England locals. It’s coming from some of the asylum seekers housed in the only hotel in the village, located on the banks of the River Thames, which would…

[charlesleondraws]

Victoria Bridge, Windsor

Built in 1851 to replace the Datchet Bridge following the expansion of the Windsor Castle grounds. It was damaged by tanks crossing during WWII. Replaced by a temporary Bailey Bridge then, in 1967, the new concrete structure allowed the re-opening of the Bridge.

Pen sketch on a particularly sunny day a few weeks ago.

#windsor #thamespath #penandink #dailysketch #thames

[kristenhalleyqwer]

Skip Hire Datchet

Windsor & Ascot Skip Hire provide a fast, reliable skip hire delivery in Windsor, Ascot, Virginia Water, Bagshot.

[thenameswinterfics]

This is the masterlist that contains all the fics and works related to Sihtric Kjartansson, portrayed by Arnas Fedaravičius in the tv show The Last Kingdom.

I do not own neither the character, nor the show or the opera he appears in. All the rights are reserved to Bernard Cornwell and BBC/Netflix.

Header by me Dividers by @zaldritzosrose Credits to the image owners

Masterlist under the cut.

ONESHOTS

THE BLUE BUTTERFLY || Words: 4K || Warnings: Fluff, missing scenes, mention of word "whore" || AO3 LINK

After returning from Datchet, Sihtric spends some free time with you, and a group of blue butterflies catch your attention.

VISIONS OF HELHEIM || Words: 6,1K || Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing scenes, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). || AO3 LINK

Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her.

HEARTS OF STEEL, LOVE OF SILK || Words: 3,9K || Warnings: Fluff, domestic fluff, smut, bad smut, very very bad smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, Daddy Sihtric is a warning itself. || AO3 LINK || 18 + ; MINORS DNI

While you and your children enjoy a peaceful, domestic life in Rumcofa, Sihtric comes up with a pleasant surprise for you.

BOUND TO YOU || Words: 4,6K || Warnings: SMUT, mention of death, monsterfucking, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v sex. || AO3 LINK || 18 + ; MINORS DNI

Since becoming the new lord of Dunholm, Sihtric has ruled alone, with no woman at his side to call "wife". Things begin to change when you begin to appear in his dreams, a human so perfect that he believes he has finally found the one, a blessing from the gods. Little does he know that behind your appearance lies a devil in disguise.

CAOINEADH || Words: 5,2 K || Warnings: Angst, mention of blood, mention of death, mention of main character death(s), human/monster romance, hopeful ending? , me writing Finan's Irish accent. || AO3 LINK ||

While wandering outside Dunholm with his mother, Sihtric is visited by a creature whose presence brings terrible news to his family. Years later, the Banshee returns to the mortal lands and Sihtric, now grown up and in the service of Uhtred, faces the consequences of a bad omen. But the tragedy also brings them closer together.

SERIES

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John S. Clifton: Buck Washing on Datchet Mead from ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor,’ III, v, 1849

Die Figur sollte ursprünglich Sir John Oldcastle heißen und wurde wegen der Namensgleichheit mit einem bekannten Ritter in Falstaff umbenannt. Die Figur des...

John S. Clifton: Buck Washing on Datchet Mead from ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor,’ III, v, 1849

Die Figur sollte ursprünglich Sir John Oldcastle heißen und wurde wegen der Namensgleichheit mit einem bekannten Ritter in Falstaff umbenannt. Die Figur des Falstaff war sehr beliebt und wurde von Shakespeare und auch anderen Autoren und Komponisten aufgegriffen und in eigenen Werken als komische Figur verarbeitet.

John Oldcastle (* um 1378 in Herefordshire; † 14. Dezember 1417 in London) war ein Anführer der englischen Lollarden.

Oldcastle war ein Sohn von Richard Oldcastle. Unter Heinrich IV. nahm er ab 1400 an Feldzügen nach Schottland und Wales teil, während deren er sich die Freundschaft des Kronprinzen erwarb, des späteren Heinrich V. 1404 wurde Oldcastle als Vertreter der Grafschaft Herefordshire ins Parlament berufen. 1408 erwarb er durch die Heirat der Erbin des Titels Lord Cobham einen Sitz im House of Lords. Damit war er der einzige Anhänger der Lehren John Wyclifs in dieser Versammlung. Der Kronprinz setzte ihn 1411 als Führer eines Expeditionsheeres ein, das Burgund in Flandern unterstützen sollte.

Oldcastles Eintreten für die Lehren Wyclifs, verbunden mit seinem hohen persönlichen Bildungsstand, führten zu scharfen Auseinandersetzungen mit der Kirche, insbesondere mit Erzbischof von York Thomas Arundel. 1413 wurde Oldcastle der Ketzerei für schuldig befunden und zum Tod verurteilt. Heinrich V. setzte eine Verschiebung der Hinrichtung um 40 Tage durch, die der Verurteilte zur Flucht aus dem Tower von London nutzte.

Oldcastle setzte sich mit anderen Lollarden in Verbindung. Ob er dabei tatsächlich die Gefangennahme des Königs plante, ist bis heute umstritten. Unbestritten ist aber, dass Oldcastle eine bewaffnete Gruppe um sich versammelte, die aber von königlichen Truppen zerschlagen wurde. Er selbst entkam nach Herefordshire und war in den folgenden Jahren an mehreren Verschwörungen (so der Verschwörung von Southampton) beteiligt. 1417 wurde er im November festgenommen, am 14. Dezember wegen Häresie zum Tode verurteilt, noch am gleichen Tag gehängt und anschließend verbrannt. Oldcastle war Vorbild für William Shakespeares sauf- und freßsüchtige Figur Falstaff. Als Reaktion darauf wiederum führte die in Konkurrenz zu Shakespeare stehende Theatertruppe Admiral’s Men das Stück The Life of Sir John Oldcastle auf, in dem Oldcastle ein von seinem Gewissen getriebener Märtyrer ist.

Wikipedia

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[navtam]

Yesterday evening (21/11/21), the Windsor Conservatives turned up in a significant number to welcome Suella Braverman, MP and former Home Secretary, to dinner at Datchet Golf Club this evening. L-R Colin Raymor, the President, Harminder, Navtam, Suella Braverman, MP, and Jack Rankin, MP. Well done, Windsor Conservative Association!!