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icarusignite · 6 months

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

Alfred the great x POC! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3k (angst/hurt-no comfort, yearning, religious imagery, blasphemy)

Dedicated to @justasightseer , sry this took me so long yet again lol

A/N: lol lowkey hurt myself writing this. So technically this is now complete, but if yall want another part, lemme know (fair warning though, them reconciling wouldn't be a very realistic ending but i am happy to write us a delulu happy ending where he proposes to reader lol). Also plz someone tell me you liked the religious imagery. I went a little nuts writing it <33

Part 1

"Perhaps it was sacrilegious, but what was a little blasphemy in the face of something this holy."

"Good morning, Your Majesty. And how are we feeling today?"

As the soft, early morning light streamed into the library, a sense of tranquillity hung in the air. With your trusty satchel slung over your shoulder, you approached the king for his daily check-up, giving him one of your best smiles. Although, if he was being honest with himself, all the smiles you gave him were your best. The veil that draped over your shoulders today was a vibrant green, and it reminded Alfred of early spring.

"I'm much better these days," the Saxon king grinned at you, feeling almost boyish. It was the highlight of his days, these mornings spent with you tending to him. "It's all due to your hard work and dedication," he added.

You inclined your head, acknowledging the king's words with humility, sporting slightly red cheeks at his compliment.

"It is my utmost pleasure and honour to be of service to you, Your Grace. Your health is of paramount importance."

As you approached the king, who was seated comfortably on the divan that had been brought in for him, your nimble fingers deftly unfastened your satchel's clasps, revealing the carefully prepared herbs that had been instrumental in King Alfred's recovery. With meticulous care, you began to administer the prescribed treatment, all the while keeping a gentle conversation that offered solace and companionship.

"Excuse me then, Your Majesty. I need to take your pulse."

When you reached out to put your fingers around his slender wrist, Alfred froze, heart thundering in his chest at the touch. His breath hitched when you stepped a little closer, a faint floral scent enveloping him. By God, you smelled like spring too. Alfred closed his eyes.

You completed your assessment quickly and pulled back with a sheepish smile, mumbling a quiet apology for invading his personal space, but the King paid it no mind. In fact, his fingertips brushed against the sleeves of your dress, fighting the urge to pull you into him.

The King was in love. There was no doubt about it. He had suspected it yes, back when he watched you sleep right here in this library, but the feeling had only solidified as time passed. It had been a while since he felt like this. He didn't even think he was capable of loving again, not after the death of his beloved Aelswith. He was somewhat ashamed to admit that yes, he had been with quite a few women after that, but there were no feelings involved. It was simply temptation, a weakness of the flesh.

"It is good to see you doing better, Your Highness. Now that I have shown your healers the English substitutions of many of the herbs I use, they will be able to brew you these tonics even after I am gone. You will be in good hands."

Alfred looked up at her in alarm, snapped out of his internal reverie. You would be leaving? Why didn't he think of that? Of course, you would be leaving. Wessex was not your home. You likely had a family, someone you cherished back home. You had to leave one day, but the thought of not having you in his life sent an aching jolt through his heart. The feeling was so visceral, so real that he closed his eyes and winced.

You gasped and rushed to his side, fingers splayed on his arm as you murmured your concerns frantically. Alfred finally opened his eyes to look at you, a little taken aback at your proximity. if he leaned forward just a few inches, he could kiss you. He could kiss that damned frown off your face. Instead, with great restraint, he nodded.

"I am perfectly alright. Just a spell of unpleasantness," he waved his hand dismissively.

You reluctantly pulled back, "Are you sure, Your Grace? I-I wasn't expecting such a reaction. The medication I gave you is not meant to have such side effects. Perhaps I might reevaluate your treatment plan again?"

"No!" the king blurted. "It has nothing to do with that I am sure."

How was he to tell you that you were the cause of his pain? You were both his downfall and his salvation, both poison and cure.

"Are you sure, You-"

"Stop!" the King snapped.

You blinked, a flash of hurt flashing across your eyes.

"No, no, I did not mean..." Alfred sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I am sorry. I did not mean to speak that way to you."

"It is quite alright, Your Majesty. You may speak however you wish."

You bowed your head, not quite meeting his eyes. How presumptuous of you, to imagine that you and the king could be friends. He was still the king, and you were just...you. It was audacious of you to even feel offended at his tone. He was free to treat you as he pleased and you swallowed the tears that you felt bubbling in your throat. It was foolish. A mere traveller and the king. There was no room for anything else between the two of you. It was foolish to even feel this way. It was foolish the way your heart raced every time you saw him and the way you looked forward to your daily conversations. It was foolish that your heart had begun to yearn for something that could never be yours.

As if sensing your internal anguish, Alfred finally gave in to temptation and wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you down to sit next to him. You comply, too immersed in your thoughts to realize that you were practically seated on his lap now.

"I am truly sorry, you know," Alfred whispered. "It's just that...I was wondering if I might ask you for a favour?"

Slowly, you looked up at him, into his striking eyes and for a moment you couldn't speak.

Alfred couldn't help the smirk that twitched at his lips at your speechlessness.

"Do not worry, it is not something you are not capable of giving me."

"I-Alright, Your Grace. If it is within my power, then who would I be to deny you."

"See. That right there. I want you to call me Alfred. No more Your Grace this, Your Majesty that. Just Alfred."

"I could never, Your Gr-"

"Please..." the king's voice was ragged.

"But-"

"Please," he said again, softer.

A prayer. A plea.

"But you are the king," you protested.

"It is a heavy mantle to bear. I am always the king. But sometimes, I would just like to be Alfred, the man. So, at least while we are alone, I would like to be referred to as...just Alfred."

Your eyes softened at the desperation in his voice and you graced him with one of your radiant smiles. God, you were dazzling.

"Very well then, just Alfred," you teased. "If you promise I won't be beheaded for it..."

Then you realized that you were still seated in his lap and a fierce crimson blush spread up from your neck to your cheeks. You hurriedly moved to stand but the king wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back down. You gasped in surprise, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders for support.

You just stared at him, eyes wide, equal parts terror and anticipation. You were on his lap. You were face to face with the fucking king of Wessex and yet all you wanted to do was press your lips to his. You must be utterly insane.

Lucky for you, Alfred was just as insane.

"Are you married?"

A startled laugh broke free from your chest as you wrinkled your brows in confusion, "What?"

"Are. You. Married?" the king enunciated slowly, eyes drilling into yours with a ferocious intensity. "Or Betrothed. Or whatever... are you a woman spoken for?"

"What? Absolutely not! Why would I be-"

There would be time later for Alfred to rejoice about the fact that you were not, or for him to wonder how someone as breathtaking as you wasn't. For now, there was just you, and him and the searing heat of your hands pressed you into his shoulders. He lifted his hand gingerly, his movements painstakingly slow, allowing you plenty of time to pull away, to push him, to run.

When you didn't, he let his fingertips trail up your jaw to cup your face. You stilled, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn't breathe. When he brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, you just about passed out.

"Is this alright?"

You didn't say anything. You couldn't say anything. The words were stuck in your throat.

"Say something..." Alfred's voice was low and raw. He was scared. Scared he had offended you. Scared he had pushed you away forever.

"It-it's more than alright," you finally choked out.

That was all he needed, and perhaps that was all you needed too, because it wasn't clear who made the next move. There was just a breath of silence, and stillness before the two of you were crashing into each other. Drowning.

Alfred kissed like he prayed. With a devotion so dedicated that it left you breathless. His lips moulded into yours and you sighed against him, your arms going to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Please."

A prayer. A plea. A call to the divine.

Alfred's eyes were closed. He was drowning. He was drowning and you were the breath in his lungs. You were proof that God existed because who else could have created a creature of such perfection? You were the heavens brought to Earth and Alfred would spend the rest of his days on his knees, thankful to have gotten a taste of your sacred lips.

Perhaps it was sacrilegious, the thoughts he had about you now, but what was a little blasphemy in the face of something this holy.

A sudden knock on the door sent you jumping from your seat, pupils blown wide, and chest heaving, and Beocca's probing voice for his king, sent you skittering across the room. When the old priest entered the library, you were out of sight behind some shelf, pretending to be engrossed in one of the manuscripts should someone spot you.

"Ah, there you are Your Grace," Beocca smiled as he approached the king with a nod. "And how are your treatments going?"

Beocca's smile faded when he saw the glazed look in Alfred's eyes. It was only there a moment before the king quickly schooled his face into a scowl, but the old priest had sharp eyes.

"Pardon the interruption, then, Your Grace," Beocca sighed. "Were you with one of your...women then? You are being careful I hope. Edward is nearly of age, and we have no time to be dealing with another...situation...that would rival his claim."

"You speak out of turn, Beocca!" Alfred snapped. "How I conduct myself in my private affairs is none of your concern."

"Of course, my King, I come from a place of concern...there are rumours."

"What rumours?"

Beocca hesitated, "Nothing too serious."

"When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered clearly, Beocca."

"It...it's your foreign healer, my King. Some of the ealdormen feel as though you have been spending too much of your time with her. They feel as though your efforts might be better suited to finding an appropriate bride."

"They want me to find a wife?" there was a dangerous glint in Alfred's eyes and the old priest knew he had to tread lightly.

"I am sure it is just so that they can present their own daughters as candidates. I am just informing you, Your Majesty, so that you proceed with caution. There are many who seek to bring about your downfall and they are not above over scrutinizing every action."

Alfred sighed, heart sinking. He was fully aware of your presence in the room and he was not pathetically optimistic enough to hope that you hadn't overheard this conversation. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation and sighed.

"If that will be all, then leave me be, Beocca. I shall...take your words into consideration."

"If I may, Your Grace..." the priest hesitated.

"Go on then, you always do."

"While I have greatly appreciated the lady's presence here at court, and it is truly joyous to see you in good health again, perhaps it is time for her to return home. She has taught us much and I believe our healers here in Wessex will be able to properly administer her treatments to you now."

"Leave Beocca."

"Yes, Your Grace."

As the door closed softly behind the priest, there was a stifling silence in the room.

"You may come out now," Alfred muttered dejectedly. "I...I am sorry you had to hear that."

Your hurried form rushed out from the back corner of the library, making a feeling for the door. The king, in his panic, stood immediately, reaching to grab your elbow before you could leave. You pulled away from his touch as if it burned. His heart plummeted.

"Apologies, Your Majesty. I must be taking my leave now," you bobbed your head in a bow, a curtain of your hair escaping the confines of your undone veil and falling over your face, obscuring your expression from him.

So you were back on formal terms then. The Your Majesty grated on his nerves and he stepped forward to grab your wrist again, pulling you closer. Then, he pressed his fingertips against your chin, urging you to lift your head.

What he saw when you did broke his heart.

Tears streamed down your face. You had your lips pressed tightly into a thin line and your fingers clenched into fists. When you caught the expression on Alfred's face, you ducked your head and moved to pull away again.

"Wait, don't go, please..."

The desperation in his voice might have moved you, if you weren't so incredibly consumed by the weight of your own self-loathing. You felt so utterly pathetic. He was a king, and you were nothing. What did you even expect? He had had other women clearly, judging by the words his priest spoke to him just moments ago. You would be nothing more than another notch in his bedpost if you allowed this to continue any further. Already you had debased yourself. You could not bear to lose any more dignity.

With great difficulty, you freed yourself from his grip.

"Will you at least let me explain," he called out after you.

A strangled laugh burst out of you, fresh tears charting their course down your flushed cheeks. With a sudden surge of recklessness, you turned back toward him.

"Explain what? You don't have to explain anything to a mere foreigner such as myself, Your Majesty. And Beocca was correct. I do think I have overstayed my welcome here in Wessex. I will leave detailed notes on your treatments with your healers and take the next ship back to Baghdad. Rest assured I will leave you in good hands."

Alfred shook his head frantically, "I do not want to be left in good hands. I want..."

"What? What is it that you want?" you scoffed. "What is it you want that you do not already have?"

You. I want you. For the longest time, all I have wanted was you.

"I want you to stay," was all he said.

Perhaps it was not quite what he had wanted to convey but it was the closest thing that he could push past his lips at the moment.

"It appears you are the only one then. It is clear to me that I am of no more use here."

"I want you!" the king blurted.

Then you really scoffed, your eyes sharp and angry.

"How will you have me then, Alfred? In secluded corners, under the cover of darkness?" you spat, your voice venomous, but your stricken eyes and tear-stained face betrayed your pain. "I will not be your whore. I will not be your mistress. I deserve better than that!"

Alfred inhaled sharply. You had said his name. It was lovely. You had said his name and the syllables were right at home on your lips, just as he was too. The circumstances were all wrong but he could not help but marvel at it all the same.

"You cannot deny it, can you? You have nothing else to give me!"

"But I-"

"Don't say it," you pleaded.

Perhaps the king should have listened to you.

"I-I care for you."

"That is irrelevant!"

"I have come to love you!"

"That is not enough!" you exclaimed.

Alfred stepped forward, taking your hands in his. You let him.

"What will be then?" he asked, urgency laced in every syllable.

"Nothing," you sobbed. "I will not be your plaything, and you will not marry me. This is how it must be."

"I could-"

"Don't! You. Will. Not. Marry. Me. Your people would never accept a foreign queen, much less one who isn't Catholic."

"Is that what you want then? To be Queen?"

"What I want is to be respected. To have my honour, my dignity. I will not have that taken from me."

Alfred pressed a reverent kiss to the backs of your hands, "You will have it. You will be respected."

"Not as your whore. Not as the woman their king beds while his people pressure him to find a lawful wife."

"Please."

There it was again. A prayer and a plea.

"You can't say it, can you? You can't say that you will marry me because you know it's impossible."

A single tear escaped the king's eye, streaking down his face. You were already insane you thought. What was a little more insanity? You reached up and brushed the stray thing from his cheeks. He stiffened at your touch, closing his eyes and leaning into it.

Then you pulled away and he was left missing your warmth. When you walked out the door, he did not stop you. He did not stop you to tell you that you were already the queen of his heart and that anything else was a mere triviality he could deal with.

Alfred, king of Wessex had a duty. A duty to his kingdom, a duty to the future of Christianity and a united England. A duty to his children, and his people. Alfred, the king, was revered, respected, and had a reputation to uphold.

However, all Alfred, the man, could think about was the feeling of your lips against his and the broken betrayed way you looked at him when he told you he loved you. Alfred, the man, was only human and there was no desire more human than the one to love and be loved in return. Not revered, not worshipped, just loved.

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