#bedwyns

[tytocatus]

  “I have always been a spectator of life, you know, never a participant. Never. But now I am. Today I am, and I an awed and deliriously happy. This is the adventure I asked for, the adventure I am having I will be forever grateful to you.” ― Mary Balogh, A Summer to Remember Art by:  John Atkinson Grimshaw

[booktineus]

I’ve read some fantastic historical romance novels this year

[be-curious-and-not-judgemental]

Bridgerton Season 3 spoilers

Sigh... oh well. I didn't have fuck-boi Colin on my Bridgerton BINGO card but c'est la vie.

I know in June, I'll be happy that it's all over. I wish I was in TV, I'd produce historical dramas and strike while the iron is hot. Perhaps a more romantic series to produce would be the Bedwyn series. Right out of the gate, Slightly Married is the perfect romantic drama to start with (no other women or men, no brothels, no triangles). It's the opposite of Bridgerton, quieter, sweeter, and yet, there is still drama. And a family united.

[te-al-latte]

Wulfric Bedwyn and Christine Derrick from Slightly Dangerous

Joel Cunningham and Camille Westcott from Someone to Hold

Both by Mary Balogh

[bigbysinterposinghand]

I made a reference for the colour palettes of the Astro-Knights, including the outfits you can get.

Merlin is also here.

Under the cut, I'm also going to include the colour palettes for my personal fanon/headcanon Astro-Knights.

Heart Astro-Knight: Sir Bedwyn

Black Dark Astro-Knight: Sir Perceval

Purple Dark Astro-Knight: Ser Bors

Earth Astro-Knight: Princess Elyana

The Chosen One (the Player) isn't included here, because in the future, I plan to try to design what a special Chosen Astro Knight armour would look like.

[thoreau-up]

Finished reading the Bedwyn Saga today.

I must find myself a Wulfric Bedwyn for myself. A hunk who knows about responsibility.

[me-els]

‘Slightly Dangerous’ (Bedwyn Saga, #6) da Mary Balogh é um dos meus livros favoritos.

Eu me identifico com o Wulfric.

Uma das coisas que mais gosto no livro é como o sentimento de amor é construído entre os personagens, e me dá esperança de ter o que o Wulfric tem: alguém que ame e respeite ele do jeito que ele é.

[alastryona]

posting my other sprites got me in the mood to start a new one oh no

can you tell i dont really understand facial hair

[euemeuslivros]

Perdi as contas de quantas vezes mandei o Ralf calar a boca no começo do livro…

Título: Ligeiramente Maliciosos Autora: Mary Balogh Classificação: +18 Avaliação: ★★★★★

Lançado em 2003 mas chegando ao Brasil apenas em 2015, ‘Ligeiramente Maliciosos’ é o segundo livro de uma série de seis intitulada ‘Os Bedwyns’. Escrito por Mary Balogh esse é só um dos mais de 20 títulos publicados pela autora, pena que a grande maioria ainda não tenha chegado até nós, contamos apenas com as séries ‘Os Bedwyns’ e ‘Clube dos Sobreviventes’ traduzidas no momento. Após acompanhar Aidan no primeiro livro, agora é a vez de Rannulf Bedwyn, o terceiro filho.

Em Ligeiramente Maliciosos, conhecemos Judith que está presa à beira da estrada após a diligência em que viajava tombar, mas Ralf Bedard, um cavalheiro atraente aparece se oferecendo para levá-la à estalagem mais próxima. Judith é uma moça pobre e considerada uma solteirona, ela vê a situação como sua oportunidade de viver um sonho, uma aventura que jamais seria possível e assim ela aceita a ajuda de Ralf e se apresenta como Claire Campbell, uma atriz indo para York para um novo papel. Os dois se sentem instantaneamente atraídos um pelo outro, e entre a sedução e a mentira, os dois acabam se envolvendo em uma noite de amor, o único problema é que Judith não sabe que assim como ela, Ralf Bedard não é quem diz ser. 

Ralf Bedard acaba se revelando Rannulf Bedwyn, um dos irmãos do duque de  Bewcastle, que ia rumo a Grandmaison Park para conhecer sua possível futura noiva, a Srta. Julianne Effingham, que é ninguém mais ninguém menos do que a prima de Judith. Quando os dois se reencontram e percebem a verdade, precisam decidir se vão seguir com o decoro e com o que a sociedade impõe como sendo a conduta aceitável ou se irão se entregar a paixão que experimentaram na noite que passaram juntos naquela estalagem.

 A autora é muito perspicaz em explicar as coisas sem que isso se torne tedioso, tudo que os personagens narram, sejam histórias do passado, sejam fatos sobre suas vidas e famílias, sejam apenas pensamentos... tudo é sempre bem colocado e em nenhum momento essas explicações se tornam monótonas, muito pelo contrário, acrescentam mais camadas e fazem com que nos interessemos ainda mais pelos personagens. Logo nos primeiros capítulos temos acontecimentos que já nos prendem e a partir deles já conseguimos sentir como será o desenrolar da história, sinto que aqui tivemos alguns momentos e acontecimentos que se demoraram um pouco mais do que precisava, mas ainda assim isso não foi incômodo, trata-se apenas de uma percepção que tive ao comparar a escrita do primeiro livro da série com esse. 

É incrível como chegamos ao final do livro com personagens completamente diferentes, Judith se torna mais confiante e mais corajosa enquanto Rannulf no começo do livro se mostra muito imaturo e completamente sem noção em algumas de suas falas, mas conforme a história segue vemos ele desenvolver um senso de dever com o lugar que irá herdar e principalmente vemos ele amadurecer enquanto homem. O mais fascinante é ver que juntos o casal consegue tirar o melhor que o outro tem a oferecer, sem dúvidas esses personagens formam um casal único. Confesso que neste livro detestei mais personagens do que gostei, mas é perceptível que essa era a intenção da autora e ela o fez com maestria. Os familiares de Judith se mostram desprezíveis em TODOS os aspectos possíveis e imagináveis, sua prima e tia parecem fazer de tudo para afastá-la da sociedade, seu primo é nojento para dizer o mínimo e o que ouvimos acerca dos comentários da família sobre sua aparência também não faz com que consigamos gostar deles. Mas a jornada de Judith e a forma como ela supera tudo, inclusive as crenças que tinha sobre si mesma é empoderadora.

Assim como no primeiro livro, as reviravoltas já se mostram presentes desde o começo, nada é exagerado, tudo acontece na medida certa e a reação dos personagens a muitos dos eventos é quase impagável, temos pedidos de casamento negados, armações escandalosas, jóias roubadas... Com tanta coisa acontecendo, é surpreendente que a autora tenha conseguido trabalhar tudo sem que nada fosse esquecido e sem que nenhum evento perdesse o impacto que deveria causar. A descrição dos ambientes nesse livro é mais elaborada do que no livro anterior, mas mesmo assim as descrições não se tornaram longas ou maçantes, foi possível imaginar perfeitamente todos os cenários aqui presentes. A narrativa em alguns momentos precisa contar com coincidências um tanto quanto convenientes, mas isso não atrapalha o desenvolvimento da história e ainda assim é possível conceber a ideia de que aquelas coisas de fato poderiam acontecer com um tanto de sorte a seu favor.

Mais uma grata surpresa, assim que terminei o primeiro livro já emendei nesse e com certeza agora já começarei a ler o próximo da série. não consigo recordar qual foi a última vez que uma leitura foi tão cativante a ponto de me fazer cancelar compromissos apenas para poder ler mais. Mary Balogh mais uma vez me surpreendeu com uma leitura divertida e encantadora. Recomendo para quem gosta de um bom romance de época, mas aviso que neste livro em específico pode haver gatilhos para pessoas que já sofreram ou passaram por algum tipo de abuso, então fica aqui o aviso. 

Resenha por: Martha Cristina IG: @eu.e.meus.livros

[itbmojojoejo]

A Good Man | Epilogue

Pairing: Finan x Ealdorman's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Finan and y/n navigate the early stages of married life and the move to Rumcofa and the eventual relocation to Bebbanburg.

Wordcount: 3.8k | Part 1 | Other Works

Warnings: Major character deaths mentioned, mentions of pregnancy and barely mentioned childbirth, brief mentions of violence. If I have missed anything, please let me know!

Authors Note: This really is the farewell. Did someone say Family man Finan? No? Well you've got it anyway. Also Second Summer = July & Blood Month = November.

The end of summer was ushered in with cooler breezes and cloudier skies, you found yourself pacing the hall of Aeglesburgh palace every day awaiting news of both Lady Aethelflaed who planned to take Eoferwic, and your new husband who should have returned to take you to Coccham shortly after escorting the Lady Aelswith to Bedwyn.

The news of the siege at Winchester left a near constant fear in the pit of your stomach, you had begged King Edward to let you ride with the army but he had refused and placed you back in the care of your brother until all was finished.

You had managed to commit every stone of the floor and each woodgrain of wall panels within the hall to memory in those thirty seven days of waiting, the very moment a rider had come to tell of news that Lady Aethelflaed was riding from Winchester you stood on the steps, watching intently for any sign that Finan was with her.

He never dismounted a horse so quick in all his days seeing you run down the steps and through the first of the army that entered the gates, you knocked the air from him wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his warm skin. Finan’s grip around your waist threatened to crush you in his eagerness to have you close again, in his own days spent waiting to return for you as he had promised was all he could think of.

Finan peppered light kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and across your cheek.

“You are a sight for sore eyes.” He chimed, pulling away to look at you.

“No more surprise distances, please.” You pleaded quietly, nudging his nose with your own.

“I swear, I’m taking you with me this time.” Finan promised, gently brushing his top lip along yours.

“Good.” You breathed, trapping him in a kiss.

You had hoped to settle into married life inside the walls of Coccham with ease but now that the war with Sigtryggr’s army had come to an end you had been summoned to Gleawecestre. Lord Ealford wished to hear from you himself, it seemed that although your brother, now Ealdorman Aelfhelm, had tried his best to squash the rumours of your involvement of Lord Eadred’s death new whispers of his sons cruelness had reached him. Lord Ealford assumed that it was you spreading this word.

Finan watched you twisting a tankard by its rim, deep in thought and staring at the letter of summons.

“We could just not go?” He light heartedly suggested, leaning on the back of your chair.

“They would only assume my guilt further.”

“I say you tell him what kind of a son he had and that you had to kill him.” Sihtric shrugged, having to adhere to politics bothered him in these situations.

“That’s a terrible plan.” Osferth shook his head.

“Actually, it’s not. Well, the confessing part is..” You believed Sihtric made a good point.

“We can’t just turn up to the mans hall and say ‘your son was a real turd and got himself killed’.” Finan scoffed; his hands coming to rest against your shoulders.

“Yes, Finan, we can.. My father mentioned bastard children and women in nunnery’s.”

“There’s also the missing women from Winchester.” Finan had not told you of this at the time because you never asked to know what had been discovered from Sihtric and Osferth following Eadred to the brothel, it mustn’t of been good otherwise Finan would not have offered to kill the lord after he had threatened you inside Winchester palace.

“Missing because they were hidden away or because they are dead?” You sighed, already knowing the answer in your heart.

“Dead most likely.” Sihtric answered honestly.

“Do you think with the offer of silver we could take some witnesses with us?” With the unexpected death of your father an inheritance was given to you, as well as a bride price being gifted by the Lady Aethelflaed, you would be able to pay the survivors to join you in Gleawecestre without it leaving you empty handed.

“For what purpose?” Osferth asked, looking between you and Finan.

“To cause doubt, if we prove that Eadred had more than a few victims then surely that would mean there was plenty of brothers, fathers even lovers that may have wanted revenge.” You had attended enough trials in Mercia to know that more witnesses gave a person a better chance of being proven innocent.

“That might work, but I don’t think the Lord Ealford will be happy about it.” Finan gave your shoulders a light squeeze.

“Hardly a concern of ours, he could know all about his sons doings and just be covering it up for his own sake.”

You had been right, with the offer of silver and arranging safe meetings between the mothers that had been separated from their children you had managed to collect more than enough witnesses to join you and speak of the suffering they endured at the hands of Eadred overwhelming Lord Ealford. He still had his suspicions of course but there was plenty of doubt raised about who actually ended his sons life and without anyone coming forward to confess, or being able to locate every possible suspect it was agreed that there were to be no more questions surrounding his sons death.

“You just got away with murder.” Your husband whispered against the shell of your ear, just before helping you mount your horse.

“Careful, it could be you next.” You quietly jested, settling into your saddle for the journey back to Coccham.

The time spent in Coccham was short as you were relocated to Rumcofa and you had wondered if this was what life was to be for you now, moving south to head back north then returning to the south before heading even further north again. Finan had reassured you that Rumcofa was likely the last relocation unless Uhtred was to finally take back Bebbanburg but you had hoped that no attempt would be made anytime soon after learning the true extent of what had happened on their last visit to Uhtred’s birth right.

By the time you saw blood month arrive you and Finan had settled into your home and somewhat of a routine, you had become friends with Sihtric’s wife, Sig, and the two of you juggled taking care of your own smaller homes, making sure the children were keeping out of trouble and learning their letters, and helping with the preparing of food in Uhtred’s hall for shared meals most evenings.

The men had taken to asking for your thoughts on certain situations with the locals and larger political news coming from Aeglesburgh as you had proven yourself more than useful and trustworthy in those areas time and time again over the years.

One night you had been unable to sleep with waves of nausea washing over you and a light sheen clung to your brow, you didn’t want to wake Finan because you had seen how he reacted to people showing signs of illness. This wasn’t the first time it occurred in recent weeks but you were worried of telling your husband.

Removing the light covers you stood from the bed quietly and tried to make it to the front door for air in your thin nightdress but quickly scrambled for the night bucket. Your hands trembled clinging onto the wood and groaned at the sight of bile. Finan was up in an instant throwing back the covers and came to your side blinking the sleep away. He carefully guided you to sit on a bench beside the unlit hearth.

“Is it a sickness?” Finan began fussing over you, brushing your hair away from your face then hesitated.

“I don’t believe it’s one that you can be burdened with.” You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly hoping to ease the nausea. He frowned, concern turning into confusion at your words.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Not many talks had been had about starting a family but the odd ones that had happened consisted of you stressing about the dangers of childbirth and Finan worrying about being a present father, he was a warrior, he couldn’t always be there to protect you.

“Mhm, I have not bled.”

“Oh god..” His face went pale, amusing you.

“Would you like to share the bucket?” You both laughed, internally panicking.

Over the next few weeks your suspicion's grew, you still had not bled; you were exhausted throughout most of the day, your moods ever changing, you could no longer stomach the sight or smell of the animals being butchered and prepared for meals, and every night without fail you were hunched over a bucket cursing any god that would listen for afflicting you with such ailments.

A local healer, as well as Sig and other women of the town had confirmed what you already believed to be true, you were with child. Finan was apprehensive for many reasons, the difficulty of childbirth aside; if you were to have a son, he hoped him to be healthy and able to wield a sword, much to your horror which made Finan realise that would be a battle you two would have one day. If you were to have a daughter she would still be considered noble, meaning lower noble suitors would be requesting betrothal from a young age which both of you wholly disliked and so agreed she would be trained with a sword.

“I think you will have a boy.” Sig had placed a gentle hand to your growing stomach with a smile on her face.

“A son of Finan? May the gods have mercy on us all..” Sihtric jested.

“I fear a daughter would be more terrifying than a son.” You laughed and Finan only groaned, he’d decided it didn’t matter as long as they were healthy.

As your stomach began to swell even more and the worst symptom’s eased off Finan became more relaxed, even finding amusement in how you sometimes struggled to get out of a low chair before offering you his hands helping you stand. Of a night he would rest beside you, watching with amazement and disbelief at the way your skin would move as your unborn child wiggled and turned.

“We should probably figure out a name” He looked up at you from his place lower down on the bed, your hand raking through his hair.

“I’m assuming Finan for a son?”

“What? No. Tiarnán?” He suggested, obviously preferring an Irish name over a Saxon one.

“I like it, I will let you choose his name, but if we are to have a daughter she will be Fiora.” You stated strongly, an irish trader had spoken of his granddaughter with the same name and explained it’s meaning: little flower. Finan was surprised at the choice but knew from your facial expression your mind was made up.

The labour came on suddenly in the middle of the night towards the end of second summer and Finan had done his best to soothe and encourage you as the local healers over saw the birth, he smoothed away the strands of hair that clung to the sweat on your brow and held your hand pressing his lips to your knuckles throughout the ordeal, his silver ring you still wore glinting in the candle light. By the time the sun rose and birdsong filled the early morning sky your son had arrived with a full head of dark hair and his tiny features scrunched up.

Finan had struggled to leave when the group was to hunt down a group of rogue raiders coming over the border and harassing small settlements. Tiarnán hadn’t even seen his first winter yet and was still so small, coddled up in blankets protecting him from the autumn chill, held close against your chest.

“You must go,” You quietly urged, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I won’t be gone long.” He promised, gently kissing the top of his sons head.

“I know.” You smoothed his frown away with your thumb and lightly pushed him backwards urging him to walk towards the boat.

You celebrated your sons first year of life during the second summer and by the time blood month came back around familiar symptoms creeped up on you again. You had sought the advice of a healer who agreed, you were in the early stages of childbearing.

On your return home you found Finan sat outside the house in front of a fire pit, Tiarnán was bouncing on his knee babbling away.

“You are forbidden from touching me during these festivities.” You declared, lifting the young boy from his spot and balancing him on your hip.

“Forbidden? What have I done?” He questioned, furrowing his brows.

“We are to have another child, Finan.” You chimed, fighting against Tiarnán’s strong grip on the silver cross hanging from your neck.

“Another..” He looked to your young son and back to you, “You aren’t cruel enough to forbid me.” Finan shook his head with a small smile.

“Oh I am, you are not to touch me during blood month.”

“But if the damage is already done then surely you can’t refuse me just yet.” He stood, fixing you with a mischievous grin and placed a sickly sweet kiss to your cheek.

Excitement buzzed through the town at Uhtred and his men returning from a visit to Aeglesburgh, Tiarnán, who was about to have his seventh birthday, pushed his way through the people walking towards the dock to greet their lord, the auburn tint to his dark hair glowing under the sun just as his fathers does and ran excitedly, hurling himself into his Finan’s arms.

“Steady on wee man!” He held him up and away looking over the growth spurt his son had in his short time away.

“Where’s your mother?” Finan asked throwing the boy over his shoulder and walking through the crowd.

“I don’t know.” Tiarnán giggled, fiddling with the pouch tied to the back of Finan’s belt trying to see if there was any coin to pinch.

“Ay! You little tike.” He put the boy down and ruffled his hair before kicking him lightly in the rear.

Walking through the front door of the house he found his young daughter, Fiora, stood on the kitchen table wearing an ill fitting pair of breeches surrounded by cut fabric and loose needles, you were stood with a measuring tape trying to figure out how to take in your sons old clothing to fit her.

“What are my ladies doing?” Finan asked, pressing a kiss to your temple and lightly squeezing Fiora’s hand, pulling a face at the four year old, her big brown eyes sparkling at him.

“She refuses to wear dresses, and I refuse to argue with a smaller you,” He laughed and pulled you to face him, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, we weren’t expecting you back for a few more days.” You sighed, leaning into his hand on your cheek.

He hummed rubbing his thumb over your lip before meeting it with his own in a soft kiss, Fiora faked gagged making you and Finan laughed against each other before pulling away.

“You cheeky mare.” He began tickling the young girl and you sighed knowing it was going to be a hectic day, but you were happy to have your husband home.

Your days in the town were now spent watching your younger daughter chase and terrorise her older brother and Sihtric’s sons if they refused to let her play swords with them. You had tried getting her more interested in the usual things that girls her age should be doing but she resisted heavily, in the end Finan had a wooden play set full of fake axes and swords made for her so she no longer had to ask the older boys permission to join in now that she had her own.

As time carried on passing your son Tiarnán was found to be more suited to the complicated skill of archery and using an axe, whereas Fiora was already showing herself to be deadly with any type of edged weapon much to your horror and Finan’s amusement. You expressed concern at them training at such a young age but Finan had told you this was the best time to start, sooner rather than later, and so you begrudgingly agreed to let it continue.

After the deaths of Lady Aethelflaed, Queen Aelflaed, Osferth and Sigtryggr, you saw a change in Finan. The death of Osferth had hit him hard and the grief lingered long after you settled inside the walls of Bebbanburg. He’d wake up some nights bolting upright and looking frantic, only relaxing once you pulled him back into your chest and stroked his hair.

The peace that the both of you had wanted existed in Bebbanburg and over time Finan’s grief dispersed, the sea air had a way of cleansing the soul that you were thankful for. Uhtred’s youngest son Osbert had become friends with Tiarnán and Fiora, your son was comfortable with life at the fortress but you recognised the unrest in your daughters eyes to be similar to that of Uhtred’s daughter Stiorra and worried that she would leave to find her own path eventually.

You had struggled to keep your family safe during the time of unrest that was brought about with the death of King Edward. Tiarnán had been taken with Osbert and Edmund to Thelwael after Uhtred’s banishment, you didn’t trust Ingilmundr being inside the walls of Bebbanburg so fled in the night with Fiora hiding away at an abbey after Finan had left with Sihtric to find Uhtred at Winchester.

Finan had panicked on their return to Bebbanburg because he couldn’t find you or his daughter and thought the worst, neither of you had been inside the cave that survivors had been trapped inside which only stressed him further. He paced the yard inside the fortress all night, unable to rest with his mind racing as no one was able to tell him where you had gone.

“Finan!” Sihtric shouted out, looking across the field from the ramparts with the early morning sun just peaking over the waters edge trying to light up the grey sky. Two horses approached from the tree line and from the hair and clothing they assumed it to be women.

The sight of you and Fiora looking up at them as you got closer had Finan rushing down to the gates, shouting demands that they be opened. You didn’t grumble at him roughly pulling you down from your horse and crushing you against him. No words were spoken as he held you and folded Fiora into the embrace, relief washing over him that a part of his family was safe and back with him for now.

As you had both had a lack of sleep the night before you had tidied up a bedroom as best as you could, lighting a hearth for warmth and dusted off strewn furs to make resting as comfortable as possible. Finan tucked you into his chest, smoothing your hair and breathing in your familiar lavender scent as you listened to the steady beat of his heart.

“I thought I was going to find you in that cave..” He spoke out quietly.

“We left for the abbey the same day you went to find Uhtred, but Finan, what happens now? We don’t know if Tiarnán is safe, what if he’s d-” You looked up at him, eyes full of worry.

“Don’t say it. We’re going to Thelwael and I will bring him home, I swear.” He delicately brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, the gold in his eyes shimmering with the flames of the hearth.

The next morning you watched on as the men readied their horses with Eadgifu and to your shock Fiora walked her horse into the yard all packed up and ready to join them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Your eyes widened, spotting her sword and seax strapped to her body over armour.

“I’m going with father.” She declared, checking over her saddle.

“Absolutely not.” You refused, shooting a sharp look at Sihtric who snickered at the discussion.

“Have no fear, mother. I was made for this.” Fiora soothed, she stood taller than you now and you sighed running your fingers over the length of her braided dark hair. She was a young woman who wanted to make her own decisions, a stark reminder of how stubborn you had been at her age.

“I’ll keep her safe.” Finan pressed a kiss to your temple.

You had never cried at seeing your husband leave for battle, but this time as you watched him mount his horse beside your daughter your vision blurred as tears brimmed your water line. Shakily you took off your silver cross and tucked it into Finan’s hand as you had all those years ago.

“You bring that back.” With a squeeze of your hand and a nod he left with your daughter following.

Not many days had passed before you got word that Aethelstan would be facing Anlaf at Brunanburh after Ingilmundr had savagely attacked all saxons at Thelwael and any worry you had soared to the sky in that moment. You had no idea if your family was even still alive and you stood on the ramparts looking at the waves under the red hues of a sunset praying that if they had survived Thelwael they would survive following Aethelstan into battle.

You knew Uhtred would fight for the young man he had raised in Rumcofa, and where Uhtred went Finan followed, and your children followed their father where they could. You just hoped Finan had the sense to keep them out and away from a shield wall.

With a heavy chill in the air your breath hitched seeing an approaching army but you easily spotted your husband and children and all worry washed away, only to be replaced with grief shortly after. The death of Uhtred had been a shock to all, days after his passing you stood back on the ramparts looking out towards the sea tucked under Finan’s arm.

“This belongs to you.” Finan took off your silver cross and gently put it over your head, patting it in place on your chest.

Snaking your arms around his neck you buried your face in his skin, melting into him as he gripped you tighter.

“If you could go back, would you still climb out of that window?” He pulled back, resting his head against yours.

“For you? Always.”

You had to remind yourself regularly that you weren’t that young woman anymore, you had raised two strong willed children who were now fully grown and ready to lead their own lives, you had lost and grieved for friends and family members, but throughout it all you had a loyal and devoted husband at your side. Finan had always been, and continued to be your good man.

End Notes: I know lots of people have different interpretations of how 'Seven Kings Must Die' ended, but to me, Uhtred did pass over to Valhalla.

Taglist: @arcielee @tssf-imagines @bcon24 @finanmoghra . (I tagged those that were on the original one for this, if you didn't want to be here I'm sorry.)

[idkyetxoxo]

Twenty | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"You're angry," 

"I know how to cheer you up," 

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

The return journey to Coccham stretched out ahead, its length daunting, especially now that Uhtred had committed to escorting Lady Aelswith and young Aethelstan safely to Bedwyn. This decision meant they were now part of our travelling party.

As we paused to set up camp, Uhtred found himself immersed in explaining to Stiorra the considerable distance yet to cover before reaching Coccham, while she voiced her complaints about the journey.

Amidst Stiorra's grievances, Lady Aelswith fervently engaged in her prayers, her voice rising above the camp's chatter. Meanwhile, exhaustion weighed heavily upon me, I dropped the firewood I was carrying, the clatter punctuating the air. 

Turning to Sihtric and Finan, "I am going to head in that direction to scream, ok?" I announced, eliciting snickers from both men.

Navigating through the trees, I hiked up my dress to avoid snagging it on stray branches, I didn't need any additional reasons to get annoyed. Finally, I found a secluded patch of grass, where I collapsed, running my hands through my hair, seeking a moment of peace.

As I rose from my moment of peace minutes later, intending to return to camp, a sudden halt seized me as I glimpsed figures encircling our site. With cautious steps, I retreated behind the shelter of a sturdy tree.

Haestan's voice pierced through, discussing a figure named Sigtryggr from Irland. A name I recalled from Ragnar or Cnut's tales.

I listened intently as Haestan outlined the plans. Sigtryggr and Brida had seized Winchester, and now Haestan intended to take Lady Aelswith, Aethelstan, and Stiorra captive. Though every fibre of my being urged me to spring forth and rescue Stiorra, I recognized the need for strategic restraint.

Haestan ordered his men to bind Uhtred, Finan, Osferth, Sihtric, and Pyrlig to the trees, condemning them to a slow death. He left behind four of his henchmen to ensure their fate, departing with Aelswith, Stiorra, and Aethelstan.

"Four against one doesn't sound bad," I muttered to myself, instinctively patting my body for my daggers, only to curse inwardly as I realized I'd left them behind while sharpening earlier. "Four against one without weapons, those odds don't sound good," I added grimly.

Emerging cautiously from the cover of trees, I witnessed Sihtric enduring the worst of the ordeal, his agitation obvious as he struggled against his bonds.

Retreating deeper into the woods, I steeled myself before unleashing a primal scream, the sound echoing through the silent forest. As my voice faded, footsteps intruded upon the solitude. "Lady, are you alright?" a gruff voice pierced the air.

His touch upon my shoulder triggered a swift reaction; seizing his hand, I swiftly flipped his body, catching him off guard. He retaliated, striking me in the mouth and abdomen. Yet, determination surged within me, seizing the axe strapped to his waist, I poised to strike, but he grasped at the bottom of my dress, tearing its fabric and sending me tumbling.

He loomed over me, hands closing around my throat, but instinct guided my actions, wrenching the axe from his grasp, I cleaved it across his throat, crimson spray painting the air as his life ebbed away. Pushing his limp form aside, I braced for the inevitable arrival of the other men.

Retracing my steps toward the men, axe gripped tightly, I found relief in the absence of Haestan's remaining lackeys, likely drawn away by the commotion.

"Free Sihtric first!" Uhtred's command pierced the tense atmosphere, and I complied, hacking at the ropes binding him. As he collapsed, gasping for air, I moved swiftly to liberate Pyrlig, ensuring each man regained his strength.

Just as the last bindings fell away, agony seared through me as a vice gripped my hair, wrenching me backwards. The axe was wrested from my grasp, and Haestan's guard hurled me to the ground with brutal force.

"Sihtric, get up, kill him!" Finan's urgent cry rang out as I lay winded, the assailant poised with his sword. Summoning every ounce of strength, I rolled away, launching a retaliatory kick as Sihtric engaged with another one of Haestan's men.

Rising swiftly, I straddled the Dane who had attacked me, hands closing around his throat, extinguishing his life. Meanwhile, Sihtric and Pyrlig fought valiantly, dispatching their opponents.

As the dust settled, we worked in unison, freeing Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth from their restraints.

My body surrendered to exhaustion, crumbling in a heap upon the forest floor. Each breath labored, while my once clean dress was now torn and stained with blood.

Sihtric's presence was immediate, his hands gentle yet firm as he lifted me from the earth. His lips sought mine in a fervent kiss, a testament to the relief and admiration coursing through him.

"You are incredible, the fiercest warrior I've ever known, my little devil," his words, whispered against my lips, carried a mixture of awe and affection. With a weary smile, I nodded in acknowledgement.

His thumb brushed against the blood staining my lip, a tender gesture amidst the carnage, as he inspected me for further injuries with practised care. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his fussing.

Finan's laughter echoed through the clearing. With a pat on my shoulder, he teased, "We can thank Aelswith for driving you to the point of screaming in the woods."

Quick to defend my honour, I countered with a smirk, "Or we could thank me, the one who faced down multiple men unarmed." Finan's nod of agreement acknowledged the truth in my retort. "Impressive as always."

"Your dress is a little torn," Osferth observed, his tone laced with gentle humour as he kicked at the torn fabric. I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance, but couldn't help but smile. "Good observation, baby monk," I retorted, earning a laugh from him and the others.

Uhtred's voice cut through, his words carrying the weight of our next course of action. "We're heading to Winchester," he declared, his tone resolute and unwavering. I nodded in solemn agreement.

Pyrlig stepped forward. "I'll make my way to Aegelesburg," he announced, his duty clear as he volunteered to inform Edward. 

With a sense of urgency, we hastily dismantled our camp, wasting no time as we set our sights on Winchester.

As we approached the outskirts of Winchester, the sight that greeted us was grim confirmation of the Danes' grip on the land. Strengthened defences encircled the city, a testament to their conquest. "We need to find a way inside," Sihtric asserted, his voice tinged with determination as we surveyed the spectacle from a cautious distance.

"Brida will recognize us," Uhtred interjected. Amidst the collective anxiety, my thoughts remained fixed on one person, Stiorra. I bit my lip, racking my brain for a solution to penetrate the fortress.

"Haestan mentioned a man named Sigtryggr," I ventured, seeking any shred of insight that might aid our cause. Uhtred nodded in confirmation, his expression grave. "I've heard the name before, from Cnut. He's one of Cnut's cousins, though no relation to me," I divulged.

"What sort of man is he?" Finan inquired, his tone tinged with scepticism. "He doesn't boast a notorious reputation thus far, but from what I've gathered, he's cunning and calculating. He wouldn't act hastily or recklessly," I assessed, drawing upon the fragments of intelligence I had gathered.

"He's still a Dane," Finan pointed out, his words tinged with implicit distrust. I shot him a pointed glance, my eyebrows raised in challenge. "So am I," I countered sharply, my tone laced with indignation. 

"You know that's not what I meant," Finan's voice held a note of exasperation, but I couldn't contain my scoff.

"It is precisely what you meant. All of you think of Danes as some kind of sickness that plagues the lands," I spat, my words edged with frustration and defiance. Before Finan could retort, Uhtred's voice sliced through the tension.

"That's enough," his tone brooked no argument as he intervened, his words a stern admonishment. "There will be no use in arguing amongst us," he scolded.

"We will wait for Edward and his army," Uhtred's voice carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom as he spoke, his words heavy with the burden of past mistakes. "We lost Bebbanburg because of my haste. We will not take any more risks," he concluded, settling himself beneath the shade of a nearby tree, his demeanour resolute and determined.

"If he's even touched a hair on Stiorra's head, I'm going to gut him, pure Dane style," I declared, emphasizing the last part of my sentence, my words dripping with righteous fury as I rose to my feet, the distance between myself and the others a physical manifestation of my resolve. 

Beside me, Sihtric mirrored my stance. Yet, before he joined me, his gaze lingered on Finan, a silent reproach for the words that had sparked my anger. With a pointed glare, he conveyed his disdain for any doubt cast upon.

"Are you okay?" Sihtric's voice cut through the silence as we found ourselves in a secluded area. "Fine," I responded curtly, but Sihtric, ever perceptive, wouldn't let it slide. He reached out, his fingers curling around my arm, pulling me gently back towards him. 

"You're angry," he pointed out, his tone soft yet firm, his gaze searching mine for answers. I couldn't help but laugh at his insight.

"When am I not?" I retorted, a wry grin tugging at the corners of my lips. Sihtric's own smile mirrored mine. "I know how to cheer you up," he offered, his voice laced with confidence as he brushed his fingers through my hair.

"Oh, really?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow his nod was all the confirmation I needed.

With practised ease, Sihtric's lips found my neck, tracing a path of warmth and desire that sent shivers cascading down my spine. I threw my head back in pure satisfaction. His hands moved with a fluidity born of familiarity, deftly shedding me of my dress as the cool breeze whispered against my exposed skin.

"Sihtric," I gasped, my voice catching in a breathless plea as his mouth ventured further down my body. Instinctively, my hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, urging him closer. With a practised grace, he shed his own clothing, laying us both down upon the grassy ground beneath us.

"Just relax and enjoy," he murmured against my skin, his words a gentle reassurance as I surrendered myself to the heady rush of desire that enveloped us both. In that moment, words became superfluous, replaced by the language of touch and the raw, unbridled passion that pulsed between us.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

We stood outside the city walls, time stretching out like an endless expanse before us. Sihtric and I rejoined the group after our brief absence, the tension of earlier disagreements dissolving as Finan offered his apology. A gesture I accepted with a dismissive wave of my hand, unwilling to dwell on petty disputes amidst our circumstances.

As we observed the Danes disposing of a body, the discussion turned to potential avenues of entry into the besieged kingdom. Our strategizing was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Edward and the Wessex Guard. With urgency, they charged towards the gates, their determination palpable in the air. Yet, their efforts were met with a swift rebuff as the gates slammed shut before their advance.

Edward's rash tactics proved futile as his men faced insurmountable odds, forced to retreat in the face of overwhelming opposition. He warned of imminent encirclement and massacre if surrender did not come swiftly.

Uhtred's instinctive response was to intervene, urging Edward to retreat, to regroup for a more strategic approach but Edward's resolve remained unyielding, insisting on a reckless offensive.

"He's going to lose all his men," I murmured, frustration evident in the furrow of my brow as I brushed hair from my face. Sihtric's touch was a comforting anchor, his arm encircling mine as he drew me close, pressing a tender kiss to my hair.

"He's fueled by anger and frustration," Sihtric observed "But we'll bring Stiorra back," he promised, his words infused with unwavering determination. I nodded in agreement, the fire of vengeance burning brightly within me.

"Yes, we will," I affirmed, the resolve in my voice matched only by the steely determination in my eyes "Or else Haestan will not live to see another day."

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

nearing the end 😥 also posting from a diff country cause im just that dedicated 😝

[tytocatus]

“I would be consumed by you,' she said, and blinked her eyes furiously when she felt them fill with tears. 'You would sap all the energy and all the joy from me. You would put out all the fire of my vitality.' 'Give me a chance to fan the flames of that fire,' he said, 'and to nurture your joy.” ― Mary Balogh, Slightly Dangerous Art by The Ponds of Gylieu - Charles-François Daubigny

[westerosoliviapope]

The Heir & Her Dragon (Modern Arianne x Viserys)

As much as he loves cunt—and Prince Viserys Targaryen loves a tight, wet cunt more than most—nothing quite compares to having his cock swallowed by a strong jaw. 

Gods know there's little to love in this miserable sand dune. You can't step outside for five bloody minutes without getting sunburned. Food that doesn't set your mouth and lower intestines on fire is too much to ask. Don't get him started on the vulgarity; the neon sports cars and the gaudy gold jewelry. The water's too hard, the wine too dry, and the women—not that he has access to women outside the palace, his jailers see to that—but he saw the dignitaries who clomped through the palace in their draped fabrics with their noses in the air as if they're Princess Nymeria reincarnated. If he were honest with himself, which he rarely is, he would admit they all remind him too much of the smirking bitch who has had his brother—king of one of the greatest dynasties the world has ever seen—by the hair of his balls for over 30 years. It's no wonder Dornish men know their way around cocks, they probably take it up the ass from their women. 

The man between his legs this morning is Bedwyn. Literally, Bedwyn. Twenty-one with a firm ass and a jawline straight off a statue of the Warrior himself. He even knows how to use his teeth, the light scrape along the head before taking the full length back down his throat has release tingling in Viserys' balls. Fuck. He grabs a fistful of coarse black hair and bucks, groaning as Bedwyn gags around his dick. Gods, he's gonna spill down this little slut's throat. Or maybe on his face. He can just see his seed sliding down the young man's chiseled jaw… 

Naturally, he doesn't notice Oberyn Martell, dressed in his signature black slacks, jacket, and shirt unbuttoned down to his clavicle, watching the action like it's a futbol game or the formula races the Dornish can't get enough of. That is, until Viserys finds his wet cock standing in the open air as Bedwyn scrambles around the suite for his clothes, stuttering apologies to "His Prince." 

Seven fucking hells. 

Smoke. That's what he needs. If he has to talk to this man while his balls shrivel like prunes, he refuses to be sober. Not when the memory of waking up tied to a chair in a damp basement with a sack over his head is never too far behind the sound of Oberyn's voice.  

"It appears you have been a very bad dragon, Prince Viserys…" 

He doesn't bother to cover himself. Fuck that—these are his quarters. Instead, he takes a long drag of sweet lotus leaf, blowing out tangy smoke as he finally speaks. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

For all the nonsense about him being a viper, Oberyn moves more like a jungle cat. Graceful,  predatory, as he strolls in the room with a hand in his pocket. "I see you are enjoying Sunspear's charms." 

"Few and far between that they are—FUCK!" Viserys snaps. Oberyn's snatched open the drapes, bathing the room in the harsh Dornish sunlight, revealing the empty vodka bottles, half-smoked joints, and haphazardly discarded clothes strewn about. Bedwyn never did get around to cleaning. 

"Do you think Sunspear is your whore house, Viserys?" 

From the man who littered the place with his byblows? "That's fucking rich," Viserys grumbles. When the room goes eerily silent and he finds Oberyn staring two black, beady viper eyes through his forehead, he realizes his carelessness. But he doesn't back down. Staring down an infamous psychopath or not, he is a prince of House Targaryen. He bows to no one.

A pesky voice in the back of his head reminds him he'll bow to his soon-to-be wife.

Not to-bloody-fucking-day. 

Despite the twitch in Oberyn's jaw, he remains still. Too still, if you ask Viserys. He looks ready to strike. "Need I remind you why you're here? Or how quickly your fortunes will change should my family rescind our gracious hospitality?" 

Images of Rhaegar's dead-eyed rage demanding his prick placed on a spike outside Dragonstone make Viserys shudder. "No." 

Oberyn nods. "Your valet will be up in five to get you dressed. It's Solstice Family Portrait day." 

Oh, fuck him. A house full of fucking Martells and Oberyn's brood of upjumped muts is just what he needs. 

"Smile, Viserys," Oberyn croons on his way out. "It's the holidays, after all."

************

"You cannot be serious." 

Arianne Martell should have known something was amiss when the family photo shoot was rescheduled. She assumed it was yet another thing she loved—Solstice at Sunspear and all the press around it—snatched away in Father's little temper tantrum. Along with Sylva, her wardrobe, and day-to-day management of her own fucking life. 

She thought she'd at least take solace in the holidays this year. Garibald may be more watchdog than personal secretary, but he had the Office of the Heir running with military precision. Every detail of the shoot had been perfect, down to the rack of Jeyne Fowler originals in Martell red and gold and the brunch buffet in the Sun Tower while she, her cousins, and latest edition to the family, Myrcella, were in hair and makeup. 

It was almost enough to make her forget. Tyene's razor sharp prodding of her sisters, El's boisterous laughter, Sarella's breakdowns of the latest Westeros political dramas, and Obella swooning over tales from Myrcella and Trystane's honeymoon. The mimosas and eggs deviled with spicy dragon peppers and Bellegere Otherys' Solstice album thumping along in the background as they flitted about in their gold satin robes. Even her red gown, albeit demure, was the finest of Myrrish silk, cool and soft to the touch, and draped over her curves like a dream. 

It was almost normal. Until he descended the stairs. 

Twenty minutes late instead of his trademark hour. No love bites this time, or at least with the good sense to have them covered. The very picture of the perfect prince in his red and black baroque silk suit, though he was anything but. 

But she managed—as a woman in power does—not to throttle him. She survived standing at his side during the family photos and even the torturous couples' shots, with his scrawny arm around her waist and too-soft-for-a-man-grown lips under her ear as they posed in front of the Solstice tree, without vomiting. 

She'd only needed blessed relief when Father summoned her to his study, where she poured four fingers of rum, neat. But not even the sweet burn of Myr's finest cask could dull the shrieking panic triggered by Father's news. 

"So not only am I shunned from Solstice in my future seat, but you would have me spend a week alone with Viserys?" 

Father sighed wearily, always so weary. The very sound of her voice exhausts him these days. Then proceeded to speak to her as one does a child. Slowly and carefully, annoyance dripping from the edge of his voice. 

He reminded her again of how long he'd endured her petulance and flouting of the rules. He'd allowed her to stay unmarried through most of her 30s. Turned a blind eye to her discreet affairs because she was, at the very least, good at her job. She had the public wrapped around her pinky finger through her style, charisma, and touch with the common people. It was she who led their charity initiatives, who wielded the power of the press and social media. She seemed, in every way, capable of leading the Principality of Dorne into the future… 

Until Gerold.

One little mistake. That was all it took for Father to lay down the law. He gutted her personal staff, whom he saw as co-conspirators in the affair, and replaced them with lemmings who managed her day to the fucking minute. Starting with that uptight little prick Garibald. He brought in image consultants who purged her closet and draped her in dull, modest frocks. 

And betrothed her to the vile waste of a man he now demanded she spend a "romantic holiday" with at the Water Gardens because this joke of an arrangement was turning into a massive press flop.

Prince Doran Martell of the Sovereign Principality of Dorne never raised his voice. Not when his eldest son, next in the line of succession until Arianne birthed an heir, renounced his title to join an extreme sect of Rh'llor worshippers in Meereen after falling for some religious nut on a diplomatic trip. Not even when the shady investors behind Dorne's Formula 1 bad boy, Gerold "Darkstar" Dayne, attempted to blackmail the Crown with compromising photos and videos of his only daughter.

But the eyes tell it. When Father's soft eyes went truly black, dark and hard as obsidian, negotiations were over. She recognizes the look from when he told her of her pending betrothal. 

"You will marry the Targaryen boy or I will name Trystane my heir." 

"Someday… you will be responsible for the welfare of 45 million people. All of them willful. Some wayward, some even criminal." He folds his hands on the desk and tilts his head. "You mean to tell me you cannot lead a single man?" 

Somehow, it was worse than if he'd just said "yes."

[thebestoftragedy]

hi!! i stumbled on ur post about historical romance recs and if you haven't you should check out laura london (the windflower made me swoon and weep in equal measure), judith mcnaught, roberta gayle (moonrise is so incredible), mary balogh, sherry thomas, anne mallory (for the earl's pleasure and one night is never enough especially), beverly jenkins' entire backlist, cecilia grant, and judith ivory! they're all sooo soo good

I've read all of cecilia grant and some judith ivory, I mostly like them (beast notwithstanding)! I did read the windflower also (I kinda hated the main romance/it did nothing for me but I liked the writing and hallucinatory malaria chapters and I LOVED Cat who should have had his own book) but none of the other ones by them. anne mallory, mcnaught, and gayle I don't think I've read at all, sherry thomas I'm aware of (more through her mysteries) but haven't read. and I've read a little bev jenkins but not much of her older stuff. mary balogh I tried and I think she's a little too Nice for me... very soft/low conflict, found family, etc is not my bag. I like Drama I like Peril I like people who are maybe kind of assholes. though I haven't read a ton of her (I think it was 2 in the survivors' club series, and then one of the bedwyns?).

right now I'm working on finishing julie ann long pennyroyal green series (just one more to go) which has been pretty hit or miss for me but the hits have been good enough to keep me going, and then I'll prob move on to palace of rogues. also been working through all the laura kinsales I haven't read yet, finishing joanna bourne spymasters series (2 to go), then who knows. oh yeah reading the rest of loretta chase's stuff. hoping liz hoyt starts writing again.

various data: my big big miss/area where I am in strident disagreement w romance book world is that I have not read a single kleypas that I enjoyed or thought was even sort of good and I've read like, six or seven of them (including devil in winter which got a firm 1 star from me). hate julia quinn. can tolerate meredith duran but at least appreciate that she's a little batshit. not a fan of tessa dare or sarah maclean, lorraine heath neutral. dislike jennifer ashley, stacy reid, hate sophie jordan.

[maddie-grove]

Romance novels series are, as a rule, episodic and loosely connected, which makes the transition to serialized TV really difficult. But adapting the Bridgerton novels is really playing on hard mode, because there’s no unifying concept beyond “this family is Big and Nice.” I guess there’s also Lady Whistledown, but in the books her role (outside of Romancing Mister Bridgerton) is to be a mildly mischievous background presence, not a major plot point.

Like. I don’t know. The unifying concept of Mary Balogh’s Bedwyn series is basically “this family is Big and Bitchy,” but she did save the emotionally constipated eldest brother for last so there’s a sense of progression. Also there’s the whole thing where Morgan and Alleyne are separated in Belgium after the Battle of Waterloo and Morgan has to rely on the kindness of the dude who swore revenge on Wulfric to get out of Belgium and Alleyne comes down with amnesia and ends up fake-married to a lady he met in a brothel. Now that’s something I’d watch.

[mermaidsirennikita]

have you read mary balogh's bedwyns?

Nah, I think I'll try it eventually, but if I'm being totally real, while I appreciate Balogh's writing ability, her books are too low heat for me. I don't think I can prioritize it.