#brida and haesten

[northbndtrain]

They will ride into Mercia in a fury, and we'll force them to a battle place where we have the advantage.

[lord-aldhelm]

August 23, 2024: Behind the scenes photos and videos posted by Mangus Bruun on Instagram.

[tlk-kingdomsource]

Seven Kings Must Die

[dailytlk]

[freddie-foxs]

Haesten, Uhtred, Ragnar, Bloodhair & Brida Jeppe Beck Laursen, Alexander Dreymon, Tobias Santelmann, Ola Rapace & Emily Cox

The Last Kingdom Season 3, Episode 3

[destinyisall-tlk]

there can only be one leader.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Yield to me

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: a request from lovely @wildchild2707 Thank you for trusting me to write you a story. I hope you'll like it. It fit perfectly with my mood as I'm giffing S3 now. @thenameswinter99 thank you so much for helping to overcome the sudden block in the middle of writing 💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+

Summary: you and Sihtric are sent to Bloodhair's camp to spy, and apparently there is more to discover than the secret plans of the Danes

Word Count: 5,9 K

You could almost feel it – that piercing, even furious look burning holes in the back of your neck, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line, spitting words with a taste of acid. Yet, you chose to ignore him.

Your fingers continued to toy with the knife, your eyes discreetly scanning the warriors gathered around the different bonfires, the play of light and shadow dancing across their faces, the fire's crackling annoyingly loud. Amidst the clamour, numerous voices speaking in various dialects and tongues wafted through the air, mingling with the smoke. You had no patience for Sihtric's trivialities; your head spun from the cacophony around you.

Distinct dialects of Gaelic, Norse, Gutnish, and Welsh were discernible in the midst of the crowd. This was likely how it had felt at the Tower of Babel, you mused to yourself. Bloodhair had succeeded in assembling Danes and other fortune-seeking scum from all corners of the islands and even beyond the seas.

"Careful now, don't cut yourself," a rough hand suddenly landed on your thigh, a thick, booming voice abruptly wrenching you from your thoughts. It was a reflex, beyond your control, your fingers wrapping around the unfamiliar palm, grabbing the thumb and wrenching it to the side. A short cry and a loud thud, the body crushing against the hard ground, were the only sounds as you found yourself sitting atop a bewildered man, your eyes wide, teeth bared, and with your knife at his throat.

"The only thing I'll cut is your throat," you hissed, eyes scanning your catch. He was not unattractive, you observed, and he smelled good, unlike the majority in this cursed camp. Surely an Earl, you had seen him before, at the main fire with Bloodhair, Cnut, and Haesten. 

A valuable take, this is your chance, don't squander it, you cautioned yourself.

"Hey, easy! I didn't mean any harm," the Dane raised his hands, surrendering.

"Give me one good reason not to cut your balls off," you scoffed, studying the stranger carefully.

"I know a much better use for them," there was no anxiety in his voice, but neither was there anger, and you slowly relaxed your muscles, still scanning his face.

“I want to know everything, every smallest detail,” you had never seen Uhtred so agitated before. Your big brother, though not bound by blood, your anchor, your stronghold, your grounding force in every tempest. You had seen him everything but scared and yet his voice quivered, betraying the angst he tried to conceal, eating him from within like a worm gnawing at an apple. 

“I can handle it without a babysitter,” you sneered at him, disdain evident in your voice. 

It was not merely chance, but destiny that had brought you together - you, Uhtred and Brida. Three children abandoned by fate, bound by love and friendship forged in the crucible of shared pain and suffering. You all had lost everything in that fateful night when the Danes had set their foot on the lands of Bebbanburg, yet you had found each other – an unbreakable bond, a thread to navigate through life and beyond. 

"I want you both to work together. Sihtric is not going there to look after you. Four eyes can see more than two. You speak all the tongues across the islands and beyond. He's considered my closest friend, my right hand, along with Finan. They'll be eager to welcome him and extract all my secrets. It's a perfect combination. I want you to trust him the way I trust him. Can you do that for me?" Uhtred's hands grasped yours, his scrutinising gaze searching for reassurance.

Could you? At the beginning you couldn’t bring yourself to trust him. He was Kjartan’s bastard, the blood and flesh of the man who had shattered your fragile lives for the second time, and he had attempted to kill Uhtred.

You could still recall his feverish gaze, darting from you to Uhtred, his bound hands slightly quivering as he held the blade at Halig’s throat. Just a boy on the brink of manhood, grappling for his chance to survive, yet so determined not to surrender.

You didn’t question Uhtred’s decision, but you couldn’t shake off the doubts that nagged at you. There was something about the quiet and reserved young warrior, something elusive, something you couldn’t quite grasp, simultaneously intriguing and unsettling you.

You had observed him in Dunholm, still half-expecting him to betray you all, to switch sides in the blink of an eye.

The clang of weapons thundered through your ears, nostrils flaring as you inhaled the sour air, thick with the stench of blood and angst. The shouts of the warriors mingled with Kjartan's piercing cry, Ragnar’s sword severing his wrist, denying him entrance to Valhalla. Wild howls echoed through the yard as the same sword swung in the air repeatedly—a cacophony of sounds and images melded into pure chaos, assaulting your senses like ocean waves threatening to engulf you. Yet, amidst the chaos, your gaze remained fixed on one face in the crowd: Sihtric’s.

His expression, contorted by anxiety and anticipation since the first clash of swords, transformed into gleeful triumph and contentment at Kjartan’s defeat, only to sour into disgust and revulsion the next moment. It was then and there that you realized the depth of the shallow and distant gaze with which he often stared into the fire, seemingly detached from the laughter and banter around him. It was as though you had been granted a glimpse into his soul, witnessing all the hidden pain, shame, and guilt reflected in his large, mismatched eyes, unable to look away.

Although Kjartan lay dead, the sword continued its relentless swing, chopping and slicing as if attempting to wrench life from his body anew with each stroke. The large, deep eyes of the boy turned warrior flinched in rhythm with the moving weapon, embracing the liberating truth, while scruple and doubt glistened within them as he struggled to believe, to comprehend that it was over. Finally over. For all of you.

"It should have been me," the words sliced through the silence of the night like a blade, as you found him sitting alone, far removed from the cheerful chatter around the bonfires. His back leaned against the mighty fortress wall, arms resting on his knees. The distant flicker of firelight danced in his large eyes, his gaze sweeping over the buildings with a feverish gleam, as if searching for something, as if seeing something beyond your perception.

“Sihtric, I…” Your attempt to comfort him with a gentle touch on his shoulder was met with a fury, as he shrugged off your hand. He jumped to his feet, feverishly rubbing his eyes with his sleeves. In a momentary blink, the gleam in his eyes revealed itself to be tears, before he stormed away, pushing you aside roughly.

Since that evening, a silent distance hung between the two of you, not by your choice. If anything had shifted on your end, it was the sense of him— the same unquenchable thirst for revenge tightening your heart in the dark of the long, cold nights. Even though you couldn’t see the ghosts of Dunholm’s lost souls, you knew he could. Your suspicion and mistrust had finally dissipated, morphing into something else, something warm and soothing that you couldn’t quite put a name to. 

It was Sihtric who apparently didn’t want neither your company, nor your comfort, avoiding you as much as possible. And so, you remained silent, giving him the space he seemed to need.

So, could you trust him as Uhtred was asking? Yes, you could. You were just unsure if Sihtric could reciprocate that trust. But there was nothing you wouldn't do for your brother. The tender kiss Uhtred had placed on your wrists still burned in your memory.

“Nobody knows about it. Not even Finan, not Osferth. Nobody. You’ll leave like traitors. Both of you,” Uhtred's voice dropped to a silent whisper, and you nodded, accepting the weight of the task placed upon you. You would fulfil it at any cost. You would free your brother from the curse the witch had cast upon him.

You slowly withdrew your knife from the stranger’s throat and stepped back, extending your hand to help him to his feet, an offer he accepted.

“Are you alone? Where’s your clan?” the Dane inquired, studying you with a scrutinising gaze.

“I don’t have a clan. I came with him,” you nodded toward Sihtric, seated at another fire, and returned the knife to its scabbard on your back. Once more, you could feel the weight of Sihtric's angry gaze boring into your flesh from a distance. He still hadn't grasped it, hadn't accepted that you were here on your own mission, that you neither needed nor wanted his protection.

He had choked on his ale, coughing furiously, when Uhtred had informed him you would be accompanying him.

“Lord, it’s too dangerous,” was the first thing he had said. “You can’t send her there.”

You snorted in disdain, stepping forward with fury burning in your eyes. He had witnessed your prowess in battle, seen you take down men much larger than yourself, and yet he doubted you, considering you weak. You were a warrior, your small and fragile appearance deceiving, both a curse and a blessing, concealing the steel beneath the softness of your velvety skin.

“I need neither your approval nor permission,” you hissed through gritted teeth, fixing him with a steely gaze. “Whether you come with me or not, that's your decision.”

And, predictably, he came. He could not refuse his lord’s order. You both departed under cover of night after a heated dispute with Uhtred, freeing the imprisoned Danes beforehand, but the silence between you grew even heavier. You felt like a burden to him, and you didn’t need words to confirm it. The heavy sighs, the silent shakes of his head, his gaze lingering on you before turning away the moment you met it—they spoke volumes. But you didn’t care, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Husband of yours?” the Dane inquired, slight disappointment evident in his voice.

“No, just a travel companion. We both served under the Dane Slayer, but the witch has stolen his mind, and now we are here,” you spat with disdain at the mention of her, your anger and scorn genuine and unfeigned.

Sihtric drew a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heartbeat. It felt insane. What were you even doing here? What had Uhtred been thinking, sending you into such danger? How could he be so blind, so reckless with your life?

The anger with which he had hurled insults at Uhtred that night before departure had been genuine—the fury that Uhtred, in his bid to save his own skin, was willing to sacrifice everything, even you—his sister, his unwavering companion through all the tumultuous twists and turns of his unruly life, and in Sihtric’s eyes – certainly the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with you; it seemed as if he had always felt this way, from the very first moment he laid eyes on you next to Uhtred. Your hand steady and poised on the hilt of your sword, your eyes—beautiful, deep, dark, and somewhat sorrowful—following his every move, every breath, while his own fingers quivered, his knuckles turning white from the force of gripping the hilt of Halig’s sword pressed against its owner’s throat.

As he finally dropped the sword, his fingers wrapping around Thor's hammer on his neck to swear his oath to his new lord, the resounding echo of his own words thundered in his ears and his gaze never left yours, pleading and promising.

He knew you harboured no fondness for him, no trust either, and he couldn’t blame you for it. Yet, he had hoped that with time, things would evolve, that he could earn your trust as he had Uhtred’s. Instead, he had only exposed his vulnerability, revealing himself as just a boy haunted by the ghosts of his past, far from the man or warrior he aspired to be for you.

Returning to Dunholm—the graveyard of his dreams and hopes—filled him with dread. Yet, the desire to prove himself to you, to demonstrate that he was more than a frightened boy bargaining for his life, coupled with the ambition to exhibit his courage, loyalty, and perhaps earn an approving smile from the most beautiful eyes on this side of the world, had been overpowering. Only to have those hopes shattered by your pitying gaze when you encountered him that evening after the battle. With nothing left but to retreat and await another opportunity.

The journey to Bloodhair’s camp had become a nightmare of its own. He struggled to conceal his emotions, hoping that the occasional sighs he couldn’t suppress or the furtive glances he stole in your direction—quickly averting his eyes when caught—wouldn’t betray him.

Now, you were trapped here, deep within enemy territory, each day fraught with the risk of discovery and capture. While Uhtred had kept his promise to keep Brida away from the camp, the fear of her sudden appearance loomed like a raised axe; she couldn’t be deceived. She knew you better than anyone, and consumed by grief over Ragnar's loss, she was unpredictable.

Sihtric adamantly refused to let you out of his sight. It was too perilous, and the thought of you disregarding the danger drove him to the edge of madness. He kept a vigilant watch over you, growing increasingly frustrated by the day as you dismissed his concerns. How could he protect you if you refused to acknowledge the peril, insisting instead on separating to gather more information?

You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. A satisfied smile threatened to curl on your lips as the Dane, whom you had nearly beheaded, invited you to join him at the larger fire. He settled beside you, and as the night progressed and the laughter grew louder, you didn’t push away his large palm as it found its way back to your thigh.

“I’ll be straight with you - I like you, wildcat,” he chuckled in your ear as the flames started to dwindle. “You're welcome at this fire anytime, and if you're interested, you're welcome in my tent too.”

You smiled, tilting your head to the side as you eyed the broad-shouldered man. You knew this game all too well. It was a hunt, and like every hunt, timing was everything. Let your arrow fly too soon, and you miss your prey; linger too long, and it'll slip away. It was too early for the perfect strike, but your prey was taking the bait, thinking himself the hunter. You stifled the laughter bubbling in your chest, turning it into a muffled chuckle.

“I’ll consider it,” you replied, not making any promises, just teasing, baiting. Your fingers traced a path from the Dane's shoulder over the fur cloak covering his broad chest, and you saw the trap you had laid out snap in his dark, smirking eyes. He was a worthy adversary, quite handsome even, and above all, you appreciated when men were straightforward.

If playing this game brought you closer to the talks and whispers you were so eager to hear, you were more than willing to participate.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an angry hiss stung your ear just as you were about to slip into your tent, your hand instinctively reaching for the dagger behind your back.

“Damn,” you swore loudly, spotting the silhouette emerging from the shadows. “You're lucky you're still breathing.”

“I saw you with that brute. You need to be more careful. I’ve told you so many times…” If looks could kill, Sihtric would have dropped dead on the spot.

“You're not my father, you're not my brother, you're not my husband. You're nobody to me, and you have nothing to tell me,” you spat out your words at him, as if hurling daggers. Not that there was anyone in your life who could actually tell you what to do. You were your own master, and it was time for Sihtric to grasp that.

"We both have tasks here, so you'd better start with yours. Besides, I’m enjoying the company of that warrior," you hissed, throwing open the flaps of your tent, eager to vanish from Sihtric’s view as soon as possible. However, you were abruptly halted by an iron grip around your wrist.

“So, I'm a nobody,” a strange metallic tone tinged Sihtric’s voice, a quality you had never detected before, momentarily seizing your attention. You turned your head, and your surprised gaze was met by two deep pools of pure fury. “I get it. You're right, I am. I’ve been a nobody all my damn life. And who are you?”

You attempted to retrieve your hand, but Sihtric’s grip only tightened, and anger slowly churned in your stomach as your other hand stealthily slid behind your back to grasp the dagger.

"A smug and heedless badger digging deeper into its burrow, oblivious to everything happening outside. What have I done to deserve being treated like a dog? Ignored, dismissed at every turn, forced to watch you fawning over that filthy boar."

“A badger?” you snorted, your tone a mix of anger and amusement at Sihtric’s sudden outburst. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, your common sense whispered for you to cease, recognizing you had clearly crossed a line and needlessly wounded him. However, retreat and admission of fault were not traits you readily embraced. You silenced your inner voice with a smug grin, a challenge glinting in your eyes as you met Sihtric’s gaze. “That filthy boar smelled better than you ever did,” you shot back.

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the hilt of your dagger, swiftly drawing it forth, but your attempt lacked the element of surprise; Sihtric had anticipated your move. Through countless sparring sessions, he had grown familiar with your tricks.

Releasing your wrist, Sihtric deftly parried your armed hand, swiftly yanking it back and leveraging the motion to flip you over, simultaneously seizing the dagger from your grasp and positioning it threateningly against your throat, while pressing your back firmly against his chest.

With a furious stomp on his foot, you exploited the moment of distraction to drive your elbow into Sihtric’s abdomen. He grimaced in pain, doubling over and gasping for breath, giving you the opportunity to sidestep and confront him face-to-face. But before you could act further, Sihtric’s arms encircled your waist, using his weight to shove you backwards, sending both of you tumbling through the tent entrance.

You grunted as your back collided with the fur-laid ground. Before you could formulate your next move, Sihtric landed atop you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head. A primal growl escaped you as you squirmed and struggled against his restraint.

“That’s enough. Cease this. Surrender. I don’t wish to harm you,” Sihtric attempted a conciliatory tone, but the smug smirk on his lips was impossible to conceal.

“Never,” you hissed through gritted teeth, persisting in your furious struggle against Sihtric’s grasp.

With your breath coming in panting gasps and your mind racing, seeking any possible escape route, you initially even failed to register what was happening. The sensation of Sihtric’s lips against yours was scorching, his hands still restraining you, refusing to release their hold. Your eyes widened in astonishment as you momentarily ceased your futile resistance, the anger pulsating within you fading like a dying ember in a gentle breeze.

Though your muscles relaxed and the frantic struggle abated, Sihtric gave no indication of noticing, his grip still firm, his weight pressing you down as his lips fervently explored yours, kissing you with rough, bruising intensity.

You could swear your heart leapt into your throat, its rapid thudding almost deafening, as you struggled to suppress the burgeoning excitement. Yet, your own body betrayed you, a fiery heat igniting in your belly, matching the rhythm of Sihtric’s lips moving against yours.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as a soft whine escaped you, but Sihtric suddenly pulled away, releasing your arms and sitting back on his heels. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your dagger lying on the ground nearby, just out of reach.

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t mean to…” Sihtric stammered, confusion evident on his handsome face as he scratched the back of his head. In that moment, you saw your opportunity. With a swift motion, you toppled him over toward the dagger, and in the blink of an eye, you were straddling him, the blade at his throat and a triumphant smirk on your lips.

"Gotcha," you laughed, intoxicated by the feeling of regaining control, not even pausing to consider that the victory might have been too easy.

Leaning in closer until your noses nearly touched, you watched him intently, breathing in his scent — leather, fire smoke, and ale mingled with the sweet aroma of his skin, both warming and exhilarating. A subdued chuckle escaped your lips as you noticed the mischievous sparks dancing in Sihtric’s large, expressive, two-toned eyes, a hint of suspicion creeping in that perhaps your agility alone wasn’t solely responsible for this small triumph.

Sihtric’s wide-eyed pupils tracked your every move, and in the sudden silence, you felt as if you could hear both your hearts beating frantically, breaths hitching in your chests. You pressed the dagger just a fraction tighter against his skin, enough to draw a few red drops trickling down the blade. Despite the slight pierce, not a single flinch touched Sihtric’s face as he slowly tilted his head backward, fully exposing his throat to you, his gaze still locked with yours.

The air crackled with anticipation, both your breaths quickening. Had you paused to consider, you might have chosen differently, but in that moment, your mind was suddenly empty. All that remained was the memory of the warm, thrilling sensation that had filled your core just a moment before. With a trembling exhale, you crushed your lips against Sihtric’s. The muted growl that tore through him sent shivers down your spine as you released the dagger and cupped his face, pulling him closer.

Sihtric’s strong arms enveloped your shoulders, and you gasped as you were flipped over effortlessly, like a feather. Once again beneath Sihtric’s towering frame, pressed against the fur with the weight of his body, you didn’t resist. Your fingers tangled in Sihtric’s hair as you dared not let go, your lips seeking his, parting with a hushed moan to welcome his greedy, heated tongue.

“Do you surrender?” A mischievous smile danced on Sihtric’s lips as he finally pulled away from your red, kiss-swollen lips.

“Never,” you smirked, reaching out to pull him into another passionate kiss.

With a soft whimper, you arched your back against the hard ground, covered only by a thin fur, as Sihtric’s hands began to roam over your clothes. He deftly tugged at the laces, liberating you from the leathers that concealed your skin from his touch. 

Your hands were just as eager, but he was quicker. You had barely managed to pull off his leather jerkin, revealing his incredibly well built upper body to your bewildered gaze, as he freed you from the last piece of cloth, a sharp gasp leaving his chest as his ravenous gaze slid over your naked frame. 

“We’ll see,” Sihtric chuckled while his lips trailed a hot path down your neck, making you gasp for air each time he sucked on your exposed skin, leaving teasing stings on his way to your chest. His skin against yours was warm and pleasantly soft and you found yourself unable to fight against the deep moan swaying through you, as his mouth closed around your hardening nipples.  

“My beautiful unyielding warrior,” Sihtric’s lips continued their travel down your naked body, his low, husky voice sending shivers down your spine, “I’m going to make you feel so good as you have never felt before, I’ll show you the stars, and you will yield to me, willingly.” 

“Oh gods,” was all you could murmur as his hands took hold of your hips, keeping you in place, and his tongue swept through your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, as his lips wrapped around your pearl, sucking gently, a satisfied hum leaving him as you choked on your own breath each time the lap of his hot tongue sent a new wave of shudders through your body, building up the pleasure, that slowly overtook all your senses.

Eyes rolling back into your head, you buried your teeth in your lower lip, in a futile attempt to keep quiet, but you couldn’t. Wild moans rolled over your lips as Sihtric was bringing you closer to the edge. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the silent and hesitant young warrior being able to bring you to the brink of madness so masterly and so quickly. 

Another deep moan swayed through you as he forced two fingers inside you.

Sihtric grinned in satisfaction, loving the lewd sounds, rolling over your parted lips, drinking in the sight of you - hair wild and dishevelled, eyes half lid and rolling back in your head, breath heavy and panting, hips moving up and down against his fingers - the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. He had always dreamed of having you buried beneath him like this, yet he had never dared to believe it could actually come true.

You whined loudly as he suddenly pulled away.

“Sihtric, please, I need more,” you mewled in a desperate need to have him back.

“You need more of what?” he smirked, placing a tender kiss on your inner thigh. You shuddered, feeling his breath so close to where you wanted him. 

“I need you,” you whimpered through panting breaths.

“So beautiful, so wild and unruly,” Sihtric hummed as his mouth travelled to your other thigh, “So fucking perfect for me.”

“Gods, Sihtric, please, I need you,” you whined, your voice cracking.

“Are you yielding, my fiercest warrior?” Sihtric asked, delving his tongue in your dripping heat, just to retrieve again. 

“I am, fuck, I am,” you moaned breathlessly, forgetting everything – your pride, your ego, your anger – there was no room for any other emotion as the overwhelming yearning for Sihtric’s touch. With a satisfied hum, Sihtric thrusted his fingers back in your tight channel, starting to pump them in and out, and you were swept away by the new wave of pleasure.

You were already so close to the edge, feeling the warmth, cursing through your body pooling into one large flame. Your fingers dug in the fur beneath you in an attempt to hold on to something, to ground yourself, as your head snapped back, your body went taut and your walls started to clench around Sihtric’s fingers.

“Yes, that’s good. I can feel you, come for me, beautiful,” Sihtric murmured softly, his tongue starting to circle around and lap over your sensitive nub, and there was no way of holding it back any longer. You felt like a tightly drawn bow suddenly released, the tension snapping and transforming into pure energy, as you came on Sihtric’s fingers and tongue, your climax washing over you in waves of pure bliss, your body trembling and shuddering from the intensity of it. 

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm with his fingers, letting you savour the moment and the sinfull sensation, pulsing through your vanes like an inferno, sweeping away everything in it’s way. You were blank, like an empty parchment. Carried away in the current of pleasure you floated somewhere between this world and the other.

“You are mine now, my sweet wildflower,” Sihtric’s voice reached through your hazy mind, grounding you back to earth. “You yielded, and now you are mine.”

You wanted to protest, to reject his claim, but the words forming on your tongue dissolved in the tenderness of Sihtric’s kiss, his fingers delicately tracing your cheek.

“Say it again,” you whispered, locking eyes with his mismatched gaze.

“You are mine,” Sihtric affirmed, his voice low and soft yet resolute, causing your heart to quicken. Whom were you trying to fool here? Wasn’t this what you had secretly dreamed of since that night in Dunholm, though too afraid to acknowledge it fully?

Silence hung between you until you mustered the courage to break it. “I am yours, Sihtric,” you murmured, savouring the weight of your own words. They felt unfamiliar yet strangely satisfying, even liberating. The groan that escaped Sihtric made you grin, as his lips found yours again, stealing your breath away.

You yelped as Sihtric’s strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, carrying you to the pile of furs serving as your bed and placing you carefully on top of it. You propped yourself up on your elbows and sat upright, watching Sihtric hastily getting rid of his breeches, a sharp exhale vibrating through your chest at the sight of his hard cock. He was big, and you were not a novice in that matter. The thought alone of him inside you, made your core pulse in pleasant anticipation. 

“You are a big boy,” you mused, as he approached, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and giving it a teasing lick from tip to root, feeling it throb in your hand. You wrapped your lips around it and let your tongue slide over the sensitive tip. Sihtric moaned, shuddering at your touch.

“Do you think you can handle me?” 

You just smirked at him in response, as Sihtric pushed you firmly back on the furs, crawling on top of you, crowding you like a wild beast. There was something wolfish in his demeanour, his tense, perfectly chiselled muscles rippling beneath his skin, his eyes darkening as if fixated on prey.

“I'm not gonna go easy on you,” his husky voice dripped into your ears like sweet poison, thrilling and intoxicating. It made every hair on your body stand on end and wetness pool between your legs, leaving you to wonder whether it was a warning or a promise. You had never seen him like this, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t excite you. There was evidently much more to discover beneath the reserved and bashful exterior of the young warrior, and you weren't just curious—you were burning with desire to explore.

“Sihtric, just fuck me,” you exclaimed, pulling him in for a heated kiss, and Sihtric groaned against your mouth, aligning himself with your cunt. He pushed into you, and you moaned loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders, savouring the delicious stretch as your walls took him in, pulsing around him.

There was nothing gentle in the way he fucked you, and now you understood why he had cared to place you on the big, soft keep of furs. His hips thrusted against you with a crushing power, showing you ever higher up the keep, skin snapping against skin, relentlessly pushing himself into you until the very end of his length.

His groans and hisses mingled with your moans and you were sure the half of the camp had by now definitely heard you, the fabric of the tent not an obstacle for the sounds, but you couldn’t care less. You enjoyed every single deep thrust, every single brush of his cock against that sweet swollen spot deep inside you, that made your back arch and your eyes roll back in your head, the familiar heat pooling into your belly and turning into hot, searing flame.

“Gods, how good you feel around me,” Sihtric hissed between panting breaths and you just mewled something incomprehensible in response too lost in your pleasure for any words or even coherent thoughts.

Having you here, writhing beneath him, taking his cock and moaning in pleasure, your nails leaving marks on his skin, exceeded Sihtric's wildest hopes. He had aimed to earn your trust, perhaps your friendship, but this was something else, something he didn’t dare to put a name to, not yet. 

You had so unexpectedly gotten under his sway, and he desired nothing more than to please you, to immerse you in the most breathtaking sensations he could offer. For despite his longing for your surrender, there was something he craved even more.

“You are nobody to me,” you had spat in anger, and those words cut deeper than any blade ever could. He would have accepted anything from you—hate, anger—but not indifference, not from you.

Sihtric felt your walls start to clench around him, telling him that you were close to the edge. 

“Common, my beautiful warrior, you can give me more,” he growled, fastening his pace, eyes getting glassy and breath rugged, as he was chasing his own release now. 

“Fuck, Sihtric, I … I can’t anymore,” you hissed and after few more thrusts you were there, the pooling heat exploded within you, rolling over you, engulfing you and you let yourself fell into that blissful state where nothing else mattered apart from the indescribable, otherworldly pleasure washing over you in hot waves. 

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm, savouring the feeling of your walls shuddering and clenching around him, squeezing him, until he couldn’t hold back anymore and he came, spilling his seed deep inside you with a throbbing groan.

Sihtric collapsed beside you, pulling you into his embrace, his panting breath hot against your sweaty skin as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. He wanted to prolong this moment, to stretch it into infinity, as somewhere deep inside him, he dreaded what would come after, unconsciously fearing that there actually might be no after.

Your head still hazy and spinning from the intensity of your climax, you turned slowly to face him. Your eyes roamed his handsome face, pausing at the scars on his forehead and right cheek. His embrace was firm, somewhat possessive, yet simultaneously tender, attuned to your every move, every breath. Like a young wolf resting after a good hunt—relaxed but alert—your wolf, your wild beast, ready to be tamed.

"You okay?" Sihtric asked, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, his thumb hovering over your cheek.

You simply nodded, unable to find your voice, enchanted by the soothing calmness radiating from Sihtric, having no idea about the tempest raging behind that shell. He smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips over yours.

"I might be nobody to you, but you are everything to me," Sihtric's gaze locked with yours, his heart racing in his chest with maddening speed. It was the moment of truth he had always dreaded. He surrendered his heart to you, knowing there were only two possibilities: acceptance or rejection.

"You are not nobody, you never have been. You are mine. I drew your blood, and I claimed you," you stated boldly, meeting his gaze with determination. "You are mine, Sihtric Kjartansson," you repeated firmly, "and I am yours."

A deep sigh of relief escaped Sihtric as he pulled you back into his embrace, his lips affirming your claim with a passionate kiss.

"A badger!" you suddenly laughed, recalling how it all began, leading to this moment of firm embrace you never wanted to end. "You called me a badger!" you snorted, playfully punching him in the stomach.

“My wild, ignorant, beautiful badger,” Sihtric chuckled in response, gently nuzzling your dishevelled hair.

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[idkyetxoxo]

Four | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"Ah she's always had fire in her, which is why Ragnar and Uhtred shielded her, treasured her like a prized possession,"

"All the more reason for me to claim the prized woman for myself,"

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

"If you speak of this to anyone I will gut you" I warned, my breath steadying as I wiped away the last remnants of tears. Sihtric, withdrawing with a grin, reassured me, "Fear not, I am not eager to incur your wrath in its full fury," he quipped, guiding us back toward the others.

"I mean it," I cautioned, halting him in his tracks with a firm grip on his arm, perhaps firmer than necessary. He brushed my hand away with an irritated exhale, striding ahead.

As we approached the group, the cacophony of fighting and shouts filled the air. Uhtred and Bloodhair clashed fiercely, vying for the favour of Skade. The onlookers goaded them on, while Ragnar, observing in silence, deliberately avoided meeting my gaze. 

Bloodhair's men resorted to deceit, attempting to strip Uhtred of his weapon.

I swiftly intervened, reclaiming Uhtred's weapon and returning it to him, despite Brida's disapproving glare and Ragnar's scoff. 

Just as Uhtred seemed poised for victory, Ragnar interceded, declaring an end to the conflict, asserting, "I will not waste warriors before the true battle begins."

Addressing Uhtred, Ragnar ordered, "Take Skade and leave," then turned his attention to me. I waited, hoping for a sign, a word, anything to indicate he didn't mean what he said, but he merely averted his gaze.

With a heavy heart, I drew a deep breath as Finan offered a comforting touch on my shoulder. Shrugging him off, I mounted my horse and departed Dunholm, without a backward glance.

Beocca and Thyra soon followed suit. While Beocca and Uhtred conversed, Thyra guided me away, affirming, "No matter what Ragnar says you will always be my sister." Her words threatened to unleash another torrent of tears, but I steeled myself against them. 

"He despises me now," I murmured, plucking at blades of grass, while Thyra deftly fashioned a string of daisies.

"He does not despise you he is ensnared by the manipulation of those greedy men," she reassured, weaving the daisies together. "If he truly hated you both, he would not have allowed Uhtred to depart alive," she reasoned, settling the daisy chain upon my head, a ritual we had shared since childhood.

"Did I do the right thing?" I questioned, meeting her gaze as she admired her handiwork. "You did the right thing," she affirmed, rising and gently pulling me to my feet.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

The nunnery in Wincelcumb yielded easily to our intrusion. We lingered in the kitchen while Uhtred made his presence known in the hall. "So, little devil, how does it feel to be in a nunnery? Does your skin burn yet?" Finan jested, eliciting a faint forced smile from me.

The absence of my retort didn't escape notice, but no one pressed the matter. 

Exiting the kitchen, I turned to Aethelflaed. "Your men lack the skills of true guards. You'll require stronger protection when the Danes inevitably invade," I remarked, sinking wearily into a chair.

Amidst the chatter and dining, the discontent of the nuns echoed until the abbess rushed in, heralding the arrival of the Danes.

Uhtred proposed sending the abbess to parley with them, as they remained unaware of our presence. Despite hesitation, the abbess assumed the responsibility.

From a small window, I witnessed Haestan and Dagfinn demanding Aethelflaed's presence from the abbess, met with steadfast refusal. Their demand escalated to bloodshed as they slew guards and the abbess in their quest for her.

"Perhaps I should surrender myself," Aethelflaed suggested, prompting my exasperated response. "And how would that help us now? All those lives lost for nothing," I retorted sharply, met with wide-eyed surprise from her. 

"Just go back inside," I directed tersely, the others maintaining a tense silence.

As Haesten and Dagfinn led their men through the first gate, chaos erupted into a violent clash. Seizing my dagger, I swiftly engaged a Dane who lunged towards me, skillfully bringing him down before another assailant knocked me to the ground from behind.

With my dagger just out of reach, I resorted to defensive manoeuvres, using my limbs to fend off his axe swings as he loomed menacingly above me. The whistle of the axe dangerously close to my head was abruptly silenced as Sihtric's axe found its mark in the Dane's body.

"You need to go back inside," Sihtric urged, concern etched on his face. I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to yield. "I can handle myself," I insisted.

Sihtric's eyes narrowed, "You're not focused, you'll get yourself killed," he admonished. Pushing him away with defiance, I retorted, "So, you don't care whether I live or die?" 

Anguish mingled with anger as I confronted the unresolved turmoil within me. 

"Don't act concerned now just because my brother saw fit to strip me of my lineage," I added bitterly, delivering one final shove before storming away.

Restless pacing consumed me within the confines of the nunnery kitchen, my head buried in my hands as the cacophony outside echoed our predicament. The realization gnawed at me, how could I, renowned for my undefeated prowess and skills in battle, succumb to vulnerability to the extent that Sihtric, of all people, had to come to my rescue?

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself, steeling my resolve before emerging from the kitchen to witness the front door open and a shield wall forming.

I pushed forward to witness Uhtred handing Skade over to Haestan in exchange for Aethelflaed. Skade's displeasure was evident, yet she complied without protest.

Dagfinn's gaze locked with mine, a smirk playing on his lips. "If Haestan gets the seer, then I want your sister," he declared boldly. My blood boiled at his audacity. "I would sooner impale myself with a spear than walk willingly to you," I spat, my defiance met with Haestan's mocking laughter.

"Ah she's always had fire in her, which is why Ragnar and Uhtred shielded her, treasured her like a prized possession," Haestan remarked, his tone dripping with contempt. Dagfinn's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with possessive intent. 

"All the more reason for me to claim the prized woman for myself," he declared, his words laden with sinister implication.

"She's only under the protection of one brother now though," he added provocatively, goading me further. 

Ignoring the shield wall, I surged forward, my fury unchecked. "Say that again, you coward," I threatened, my voice a low growl. Uhtred intervened, pulling me back by the arms, his whispered insistence falling on deaf ears.

"I'll return for you, little fighter," Dagfinn proclaimed as they departed with Skade in tow, a tension lingering in the air. Sihtric and Finan, visibly seething with anger, exchanged glances laden with silent fury.

Finally, Finan's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade. "You're venturing on dangerous ground, Dagfinn," he warned, his words sharp with indignation. 

Sihtric's expression mirrored Finan's resolve, his jaw clenched with barely contained rage. "Your words will not be forgotten" he declared, his voice a low, ominous rumble.

Dagfinn's smirk faltered, momentarily replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. However, he quickly composed himself, his arrogance undiminished. With a dismissive wave, he scoffed, "Empty threats from cowardly pups."

Ignoring the jibe, Sihtric's eyes narrowed with a steely resolve. "Watch your back, Dagfinn," he warned his voice a chilling whisper that hung in the air long after the Danes had vanished from sight.

"I can handle myself, thank you very much," I asserted saracstically, pushing through the crowd of men. Despite the footsteps trailing behind me, I ignored them striding forward until a firm grip seized my arm, halting my progress.

Turning, I met Uhtred's concerned gaze, irritation simmering beneath the surface. "What?" I snapped, my patience worn thin as he guided me towards a secluded spot.

"You're not alright," he stated plainly, his worry etched into his features. I rolled my eyes in response. "What's your point?" I retorted, frustration tainting my tone as he exhaled heavily.

"I need to be certain that you're truly ok, that you don't regret forsaking your blood ties to stand with me," he implored, his words tinged with genuine concern. My expression slightly softened at his sincerity.

"Uhtred, you're my brother just as much as Ragnar," I confessed, a hint of vulnerability seeping through my facade. "Truthfully, it offends me that you'd doubt that," I added.

He drew me closer, enfolding me in his embrace. "I do believe it, I just question whether making Ragnar our enemy was the wisest choice," he confessed, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"The gods work in mysterious ways," I murmured against his chest, finding comfort in his embrace. 

"I'm grateful to have the little devil by my side, though," Uhtred admitted, his words carrying a mixture of sincerity and fondness. His admission elicited a grin from me.

"Finan and Sihtric are worried about you though, they think you're not yourself," he continued, his voice tinged with concern. My smile faltered at his words the stubbornness and wounded pride returning.

"Finan might be, but concern for me isn't exactly Sihtric's thing," I remarked, a dry chuckle punctuating my words. Uhtred's expression softened, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"You might be surprised," he countered cryptically, leaving me to ponder his words. A furrow formed on my brow, curiosity gnawing at me as I wondered what lay beneath Sihtric's facade.

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

arms 👀

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Puppy Boy - Animal Shelter Sihtric Long Fic

Ch 1 - This Fucking Kid

"Heya kiddo." Finan ruffles his young tennant's hair. Sihtric groans, almost spilling his milk. "I am not a kid, I am 21!" He yells. "You're a kid, kid." Finan chuckles, sitting opposite the young Dane. "How was yer day?" He asks. "A lot." Sihtric murmurs. "Oh?" Finan furrows his brow. "Kinda overstimulated right now." Sihtric replies.

Finan owns a construction company, he's well off and unattached. He lives his best life in a house he built himself and works from his home office. He's Irish and does everything his Catholic upbringing forbids.

Sihtric is all but a decate younger and rents Finan's attic. He works at the local animal shelter and could not be more different from Finan even if he tried. He's shy, peculiar and more often than not straight up bad with people. He gets along much better with the animals he takes care of. And he hasn't had a girlfriend since he was sixteen. He is not at all unattractive, though somewhat dorky and clumsy in the way he dresses. Even the glasses he wears are kind of cute.

"Need to leave ya alone for a while?" Finan asks. He knows how Sihtric is by now. Sihtric peers at his watch. The thing looks like he's had it since he was twelve. "When's Uhtred gona be here?" He asks. Finan throws a glance at the digital clock on the oven. "In half an hour or so." He replies. Sihtric groans softly and gets up. "I'll go take a shower and try to decompress a bit." He says. "Just be down by dinner. And it is okay if you go back up when it gets too crowded." Finan assures him.

Sihtric nods and heads upstairs to shower.

He let's the hot water run over him, pictures it washing him clean from all the stimuli of today. He takes Finan's body wash, liking the scent of it, much better than his own. He can't afford the luxurious products Finan has, but he knows Finan doesn't mind if he uses them from time to time.

Once's he's cleaned up, he allows his mind to wander.

At first, they don't go anywhere in particular, meandering to the pretty woman who adopted one of the bunnies today. Sihtric liked the look of her freckles and full, round breasts. His cock swiftly hardens and his hand wanders south. Groans tumble from his mouth as he strokes himself. His imagination runs wild, picturing warm, full breasts, leaking with milk. "Mama, please." He whimpers, tugging firmly on his cock. "G-gods." He sputters.

He cums quickly, painting the tiled wall of the shower generously with his seed.

He comes down for dinner, find Uhtred, Halig and Leofric already there.

"Hello boy." Uhtred purrs, eyeing Sihtric up and down. Sihtric flushes so brightly his glasses almost fog over. He knows Uhtred well, but never really gets used to the covetous way he's being looked at. Especially considering Uhtred has a wife and kids. "Heya nerd." Halig grins at Sihtric as the youth sits down. Sihtric smiles a small smile at him. Leofric just grunts at him. Leofric is in his 40s, he's got nothing in common with Sihtric. But it's fine, Sihtric does not mind.

Over dinner, Uhtred starts whinging about his employer and Leofric, who works for the same firm, assures Finan it is not that bad. Sihtric just sits by, shoving Finan's superior cooking into his face.

After dinner, the others pile in. Aethelwold, Edward, Aethelflaed and Erik, Haesten, Dagfin, Aldhelm and Aethelred, Eadith and Ragnar and Brida. Sihtric is pretty sure Finan wants to shack up with Eadith. The Irishman can barely keep his eyes off of her.

Sihtric joins in for a few round of whatever card game has been brought out, but quickly gets overstimulated, so retires to his bedroom. Only Aethelwold hassles him for it, but Sihtric doesn't care for that guy's opinion.

He puts his headphones on and listens to Valhalla Calling on repeat for half an hour at first.

He touches himself again after that, his jumper between his teeth, abs glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he strokes his thick, long cock. He doesn't really fantasize about anything. He just focusses on the feeling of fucking his fist. But of course he can't keep his mind on track. He wonders what it would feel to fuck a warm wet pussy, or a tight hot arse. To just slip into another person's body, feel their heat and pressure. "Oh Gods." He groans. He imagines what it would be like to drown in another person's scent. To press his face between two warm breasts or a firm chest and just inhale. He feels his climax building, his mind wandering further to suckling on hardened, sensitive nipples. To feel fingers rake through his hair and be praised.

It is the undoing of him. He spends himself all over his chest and abs.

It isn't that Sihtric is unattractive and he's had a few girlfriends in high school. He's kissed a boy in a club once. It was the only time he'd ever been to a club. And he made out with Uhtred when he got genuinely wine drunk. But all of that has been at least two years ago. He hasn't gone to a club in aaages. He hasn't made out with anyone in what feels like a decade, which it of course is not.

He's not a virgin, but the first time he's had sex, when he was seventeen, was uncomfortable and he just avoids it now. Not because he does not want to fuck. Gods he wants to fuck and be fucked in return. He has desire in spades. But he gets anxious when he thinks of the discomfort. He isn't even sure what the discomfort stemmed from, all he remembers from the entire ordeal was a fierce rash on his cock, but a clean STI test.

He doesn't have to work weekends. But still he spends all his time at the shelter. The animals never judge him for being odd. And the other people working the shelter got used to him being a bit a lot peculiar by now.

So eh heads out to the shelter saturday morning, after his morning work out. He works out twice a day, before work and before dinner. Working out makes his mind calm. He does the hard labour, bringing in heavy bags of kibble, cleaning the kennels and wrangling the big dogs. The weekend volunteers are very grateful that all they have to do now is feed the animals and socialise them.

After lunch he takes the dog for a run, each in turn. Running makes his head empty too. And the dogs love to get out of the kennel and show their best side. He does not draw too much attention, with his thick glasses and oversized hoodie. No one would suspect those hoodies hide rockhard abs and behind those glasses are mischievous eyes.

"Ah, Sihtric, there you are." One of the volunteers calls out, once he comes back from walking Tusker, a young staffie husky mix.

Sihtric quickly puts Tusker back into his kennel and goes up to the volunteer. "What's up?" He asks gently. The volunteer gestures him to follow into the office. Sihtric obliged, following to the elder lady in charge for today. "What can I do, ma'am?" He asks politely. "I need you to take Pretty to the vet, that hairball has been bothering her long enough now." The elder woman says. "Yes ma'am. I'll grab a carrier." Sihtric says diligently. "No need to, we already have her ready to go." The volunteer mixes in.

So he is brought Pretty, in her carried. "Thanks." He mumbles. Pretty hisses, she is uncomfortable. "Yeah yeah, I know." Sihtric cooes soothingly. He takes the carrier to his beat up old ford. Carefully he secures Pretty on the passenger chair and drives to the vet office in town.

You hear the front door bell chime. A walk in!

"Be right with you!" You cry out, making sure the file you were working on is saved. You get up from your desk and head into the waiting room.

You stand eye to eye with possibly the cutest boy you have ever seen. Holding a crate with the angriest cat you have ever heard. "Hi, who's this?" You ask. crouching before the crate. You peer into the crate, facing a moody calico persian. She hisses at you and you cast your eyes up at her person, waiting for an answer. You gaze up into dual coloured eyes, through glasses that magnify his long lashes. He looks so innocent it almost breaks your heart.

"What's her name?" You ask sweetly.

The youth swallows thickly. "P-pre- .. Pretty." He stammers. "And what is going on with Pretty?" You get back up and smile up at the young man. Fluster dusts his cheeks. "She .. she has a hairball stuck in her tract." He stutters. "Oh goodness, that is why she is so crabby, huh?" You cooe. "No... no, she is always like this." The youth shakes his head.

"How about we start with some paperwork, I'll get Pretty comfortable while you fill it out.¨ You cooe. "Yeah.. s-sure." He nods, extending you Pretty's crate. You take the crate and smile sweetly at him. "Come, follow me." You lead him to the treatment room. He eagerly follows after you.

You pull out some papers, handing them to the young man, while you put the crate on the sterilised table.

"Come here, pretty Pretty." You cooe. The persian hisses. "Alright, you take some bribery, I see." You chuckle. You grab a tube of chicken paste from a drawer and open it, holding it for Pretty to smell. Pretty cranes her neck and takes a little taste. "Good Gal." You cooe, slowly pulling your hand back. Pretty follows along to keep licking the chicken paste.

Sihtric feels his ears burn when he hears you praise Pretty. It unlocks something inside him and his jeans tent. He swears under his breath. This is not a bodily reaction he needs right now. He does his best to will his boner down, but you again praise Pretty for being so cooperative in exchange for yummy snacks. His cock throbs eagerly and he pulls his hoody over his crotch.

"I .. erm..." He has no idea what to say anymore, handing you the paperwork. He pointedly avoids looking you in the eye. "Thanks." You cooe, quickly reading through the form. "Sihtric Kjartansen?" You ask, to verify his name. "Yeah, I work for the local shelter." He replies. "So, Pretty is a shelter cat?" You ask. Sihtric nods. "Y-yeah." He stammers. "Why hasn't she been adopted yet?" You asked. "Cuz she is a bitch to everyone." Sihtric replies. You can't help a soft giggle.

"Now what is going on with Pretty?" You. "Hairball, won't pass. We have tried everything." Sihtric replies. He finds that it is easier to talk when he talks about the animals. Though he can't look you in the eye. "Are you giving her baths?" You ask. "N-no.." Sihtric stammers.

[lord-aldhelm]

Cnut (Magnus Bruun), Brida (Emily Cox), Haesten (Jeppe Beck Laursen), Bernard Cornwell, Dagfinn (Simon Stenspil), and Ragnar (Tobias Santelmann) from a behind the scenes video posted by Magnus Bruun on Instagram.

[anoncat6]

PETRICHOR | sihtric x oc | part thirteen

part one

13. ambush in the forest

They had waited by the house all night, watching the fire burn itself out with defeated looks on their faces.

Beocca was broken; he had not eaten, drank, or said a word in hours. Hild had tried to comfort him when dawn broke, whilst Finan had encouraged him to drink something.

“This fire did not just happen. It did not.” Beocca had a wild look in his eyes.

Shaking out from under Sihtric’s cloak, Ghylena took a shaky breath, her lungs still feeling the strain of last night’s smoke. 

“Tidman,” She croaked, “It was Tidman.”

Lena began coughing, and Sihtric fluttered around her in worry, stroking her back as he gave her some more water.

Finan looked on in a mess of confusion and concern, “‘Tidman’? What happened?”

“He was harassing her again, wasn’t her?” Beocca looked self-destructive.

“He upset her in the palace, so I offered to walk her home. I thought we’d be safe,” Ghylena faltered in her guilt, “He followed us. Threw food and stones. I- I tried to stop him, closed the door after her, but he cornered me.”

Ghylena looked to Sihtric for strength, finding only an ocean of chaos in his eyes.

“He had a knife, and I’d left my weapons at the palace. I should have brought them with me, but I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think we’d need them. I was stupid. I remember him pinning me down, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight him off—“

Sihtric went stiff, “He didn’t—“

“No, no!” Her eyes widened as she realised what it sounded like, recognising Finan’s worried look as his jaw tensed, “No, he didn’t… I swear. He knocked me out, and then I woke up and the house was already… I’m sorry, Father, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry.”

<>

Uhtred had been imprisoned during the funeral, his pardon from Alfred revoked by Aelswith’s order. Only when stood in the courtyard, about to be exiled from Wessex once more, did Uhtred make his speech in plain view of the rich and poor of Winchester. The entire city.

His speech worked, his pardon reimposed by Edward Rex, and then they were travelling yet again, journeying for Bedanford to face the armies of Cnut, Haesten and Brida.

They had made camp that night in Wicumb, taking note of Aethelwold’s absence.

Edward, Uhtred and his inner circle, (including his 2 favourite priests), were gathered around their fire, eating a stew Osferth had made.

“This is good food, Osferth,” Ghylena had praised him with a smile, “You make a better cook than me.”

Sihtric snorted, “That is not an impressive feat.”

“Seeing as I hunt the food, husband, I think it only fair that someone else prepares it.” Ghylena nudged her knee with his.

“Sihtric is not much better at that than you, Lena,” Finan chipped in.

“Perhaps we should get some help then…” Ghylena pondered.

“Perhaps we should just hire Finan as our maid.” Sihtric joked.

“I’d rather suck my own toes after this battle than live with the two of you. I’d never get any sleep.”

Uhtred laughed, Osferth went red, and Pyrlig chided Finan as Ghylena choked on her stew.

<>

The morning before battle, Uhtred had taken Edward to scout the forest— their chosen field of battle— whilst Lena’s boys were sent to kill any potential spies on the roads.

Ghylena had taken her opportunity of peace and gone to the waterside, just beyond eyesight of the men of camp but within shouting distance, just in case.

She was stood knee-deep in the lapping water, her clothes damp and floating at her feet. She held her hands in front of her, palms down to the water, eyes closed.

Opening her other senses to the world around her, Lena cleared her mind. This was her fleeting chance to be Lady Ghylena, the wife and sister, the woman who grieves and mourns, and she had little time left before she would have to be Lena the Warrior once again. Taking out her knife, Ghylena pricked the tip of her finger, just enough to draw slow, thick blood.

The shining crimson dripped down into the river.

One drop. 

“Gisela,” she breathed, “My beautiful, powerful sister. Valhalla is not worthy of you.”

Another drop.

“My baby— my perfect, undying son.”

A final drop.

“Thyra, my friend, may you find peace. I’m sorry I could not save you,” Lena sniffed, her voice thick, “Forgive me.”

Opening her eyes slowly, Ghylena admired the beauty of her surroundings, finding comfort in the soulful song of birds. River mist clung to the water, the opposite banks flanked with verdant woodland that stuck straight into the rich blue sky. Raising the knife still clutched in her hand, she struck a small braid of hair from its end, clasping it in hand before throwing it into the water.

“Protect me, and let me protect those that I love.”

<>

The battle came quickly.

Ghlyena was crouched beside her boys— Sihtric, Finan, Uhtred and Osferth. In the hours before, she had re-braided her hair tightly, applying war paint across her eyes and sharpened her weapons which hung from her torso.

They went through their usual rituals; Finan and Sihtric clashing weapons, Osferth praying, Uhtred staring so hard he might shit himself, and Sihtric pressing his lips to Lena’s forehead. 

Ghylena moved to the archers, joining the bowmen as they prepared to initiate the attack. Haesten and Cnut’s men soon came riding through the woods, horses clattering on the old road, Ghylena sending word down her line— it was time.

Knocking her first arrow, Lena made sure to see that the others had followed suit before letting her death fly. Her curse flew true, finding its mark and killing the unremarkable Dane instantly. Chaos and panic erupted as their prey realised they had been ambushed. Roars and yells of scared men poured from over the ditch as Ghylena called for a second volley of arrows. 

Then Uhtred’s men charged, and soon soldiers collided like waves against a cliffside.

The line of Danes were being shredded by arrows, with some of them lifting their shields to protect themselves. Ghylena sent arrow after arrow into the pile of flesh and fur, each landing fatal blows.

When her quiver eventually ran empty, as was unavoidable, Ghylena strung her bow over her torso, unsheathing her sword in a fluid motion as she stood.

With a clamorous outcry, Ghylena led the second charge of men into the fray. 

Running full speed into the fighting, Lena didn’t have time to focus on anything but killing her enemies and staying alive. Unlike most of the men around her, Ghylena didn’t have a shield, instead swinging with her axe and sword— her now-typical fighting style thanks to Sihtric’s teachings.

Dodging away from a blood-soaked axe that was swung at her neck, Ghylena turned to face her newest opponent. He was huge, as big as her friend Clapa had been, with arms like an oak tree and a deadly double-edged axe in his hands.

Seeing her size him up, he steadied his footing and lunged for her again, forcing her further backwards with each arching swipe of his axe. This leering dance continued for 5 or so paces, with Ghylena nearly stumbling over a root before she saw it. Her chance.

Lena stepped to the side, clashing her axe into his with a yell and twisting it from his grip before bringing her sword up to his thigh and cleaving his leg down to the bone. He fell to his knees, letting out a resounding scream before she sunk her sword into his shoulder, digging down into his heart. 

Panting with exertion, Lena tightened her grip before withdrawing her weapons, her eyes reassessing the battlefield like a hawk. Her gaze was mad, the black dust framing her wild eyes with fury.

“Where are the Mercians?!” Sihtric’s voice rang out, and Ghylena’s neck twisted in its direction.

She saw him them, fighting furiously and as gracefully as ever. Finan was close by.

“Sihtric!” She called out to him, but he didn’t hear. Her throat was sore, the crisp air burning with every forceful inhale, “Sihtric!”

Carving a path to him wasn’t easy, but Ghylena wasn’t to be stopped. Moving through the bloodied mass of brawling like a leaf flowing down a river, Ghylena dodged and parried, periodically diving away from the swing of an axe or the swipe of a sword.

Eventually, a little worse for her, she caught his attention.

“Lena!” His eyes lit up, clearly happy to see her.

Seeing the Dane behind her husband, Lena’s face grew fierce as she yelled for him to duck, hurling her axe over his back with one arm, and straight into the skull of his attacker.

Now with just her sword, Ghylena drew close to Sihtric and drew her dagger, pressing her side into his taller frame.

“Gods, I love you.” He said, a manic grin on his face.

Huffing a laugh as she parried a blow, Ghylena threw him a hectic grin as she swore, “Not now, my love! Men to kill, battles to win—“

“Husbands to kiss?” Sihtric pushed his luck, slitting someone’s throat with the tip of his axe as he gazed at his wife from the corner of his eye.

Lena shoved into him laughing, “Not now, Sihtric!”

“Uhtred! The line is breaking!” Finan was fighting fiercely, but they were all about to be overwhelmed if they didn’t do something.

“Push back!” Came the reply, “Where is Sigebriht?” 

Now stood with her boys, once again fighting against the odds and being painted with blood and gore, Lena heard horns of the approaching cavalry. 

“Lord! Horses!” Sihtric called, “Horses!”

Uhtred rejoiced, “It is Aethelflaed! It is Mercia!”

The arrival of Mercia turned the tides drastically in their favour, the whip-fast horses ploughing through the men and the riders using deadly force with their weapons. Aethelflaed was leading the charge, and Ghylena momentarily looked in awe at the inspiring woman. She was power unto herself, and clearly good with a sword, a woman worthy of being a Queen.

The subsequent arrival of Lord Sigebriht and his men solidified the result of the battle, ensuring victory for Uhtred and his men. 

Many died that day, though none who Ghylena loved and none who she need mourn for.

The following week was spent healing minor wounds and resting tired bones. Osferth cooked more stew for them, and Finan cracked his usual jokes, telling stories of battles past and battles that never happened. Sihtric finally got his hard fought kiss, and more.

Ghylena wore Gisela’s earrings with pride, scrubbed her body of blood and allowed her tattoos pride of place on her neck, framing the braid Sihtric had knotted in her newly cleaned hair. 

She had lost much, and gained much. But she was still here, and she still had family.

Uhtred, the brother given to her by Gisela…

Finan, the Irishman who could always make her laugh…

The baby monk, Osferth, a new and welcome addition to their group…

Sihtric. The man she loved, the man who loved her. Her husband. Her heart.

-> END OF SEASON 3

Tags: @travelingmypassion

[dailytlk]

THE LAST KINGDOM / 3x10

[freddie-foxs]

Ragnar the Fearless, Brida, Clappa and Haesten Peter Gantzler, Emily Cox, Magnus Samuelsson & Jeppe Beck Laursen

Seven Kings Must Die 2023

[destinyisall-tlk]

haesten's men say cnut and brida have attacked mercia. i knew they did not sail for irland.

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"I don't know what to say."

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

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As I made my way back to our camp, the familiar faces of Finan, Sihtric, Uhtred, and Jackdaw greeted me in an unexpected gathering. 

My eyes met Sihtric's, and for a fleeting moment, our gazes locked. He held my stare for a couple of seconds before diverting his eyes, feigning sudden interest in the arm rings adorning him. "Why are you here?" I inquired, my curiosity tinged with a subtle undertone of concern as I finally directed my attention to Jackdaw.

"It's Brida," Jackdaw began, his voice carrying a weight that instantly set my nerves on edge. "She sent me."

As his next words pierced the air, a knot tightened in my chest. "Aethelwold is the one who killed Ragnar," he revealed, each syllable heavy with the gravity of the news.

Shock rippled through me, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur. My heart raced, its frantic beats threatening to rupture from within. I glanced at Uhtred, our eyes locking in silent understanding. Aethelwold, that vile scum, was responsible for the deaths of our siblings and now he would pay for it.

"Osferth, fetch the blood," Uhtred's voice cut through the tension, his tone steely with determination. Without hesitation, Osferth handed him the pouch containing my blood.

Concealed within the dense foliage of the forest, I watched with bated breath as Brida, Cnut, Haesten, and Aethelwold led their army into the woodland depths. Anticipation crackled in the air like electricity, mingling with the scent of damp earth and impending conflict.

As the first volley of arrows darkened the sky, the cacophony of battle erupted around me. With each clash of steel, with every war cry that rent the air, I felt the weight of my purpose pressing upon me like a leaden mantle.

In the heat of the fray, our forces teetered on the brink of defeat until salvation arrived in the form of Aethelflaed and her Mercian cavalry. Their timely intervention breathed renewed vigour into our ranks, turning the tide of battle in our favour.

Then, like a tempest unleashed from the shadows, Sigebriht's army descended upon the Danes, striking from the rear with a ferocity that mirrored my own pent-up rage.

My blade cleaved through the sinewy flesh of a Dane, his weapon poised menacingly at my chest. A pat on my back prompted me to whirl around, greeted by the sight of Sihtric, his arms cradling the battered form of Dagfinn. Bruised and broken, he was the embodiment of my wrath made manifest.

"He's all yours," Sihtric declared, his voice a grim acknowledgement of the task that lay before me before he disappeared once more into the fray.

A twisted smile of anticipation curled my lips as I seized Dagfinn by his matted hair, wrenching him down to his knees before me. "One way or another, you will be mine," I hissed through clenched teeth, the promise of retribution echoing in the air like a curse, a curse of his own making, a malignant force born from the depths of his twisted desires.

With a fluid motion, I brandished my dagger, its gleaming edge dancing in the flickering light of the battlefield. Without hesitation, I drove across his crotch, his most tender flesh, slicing off his cock in a swift movement revelling in the anguished cry that tore from his lips. Each scream was a symphony of suffering, a cacophony of agony that fueled the fire burning within me.

Though my every instinct urged me to prolong his torment, the battle around us demanded swifter justice. With a cruel twist, I withdrew the blade, savouring the metallic tang of blood upon its surface.

Forcing his head upward, I locked eyes with him, a silent challenge smouldering in the depths of my gaze. "Fuck you," I spat and then, with a swift stroke, I severed the fragile thread of his existence slicing across his neck, the crimson tide of his lifeblood staining the earth beneath us. 

With a contemptuous kick, I cast aside his lifeless form, the echo of his demise ringing in my ears like a hymn of vindication.

As I smeared his blood across my cheeks, I welcomed the darkness that resided within me. They called me the little devil, and with every trickle of his blood on my skin, I embraced that nickname with a passion fueled by justified rage.

As I cast my eyes back across the battlefield, I caught sight of Aethelwold, and his figure of cowardice atop a horse, desperately attempting to flee the scene. Determination surged within me like a tide, and I spied a lone horse in the distance, beckoning me with the promise of pursuit.

With agile grace, I mounted the steed, pulling sharply on the reins as we thundered after him. There was no sanctuary for him, no escape from the reckoning that awaited, I was going to make sure of it.

The chase pressed on, the pounding of hooves against earth a relentless drumbeat of pursuit. Then, during the frenetic pursuit, Aethelwold's flight faltered as he collided with a low-hanging branch, tumbling unceremoniously from his mount. 

Spotting Uhtred in the distance, I signalled to him, our paths converging as we united in the hunt.

Cornered and desperate, Aethelwold found refuge behind a towering tree, his pleas for mercy echoing hollowly in the air. Yet, in the face of his cowardice, Uhtred's demand hung heavy in the air, a reckoning long overdue.

"Admit you killed Ragnar" Uhtred's voice brooked no dissent, and Aethelwold, trembling, confessed to the deed born of his own fear "I feared he would kill me so I had to kill him". The gravity of his actions hung heavy in the air, the stench of cowardness poisoning the very ground beneath us.

"I'll exile myself," Aethelwold bargained, his voice tainted with desperation, his offer met with a disbelieving scoff.

"You will go far away," Uhtred's voice sliced through the tense air. His words drew my attention, and a silent agreement passed between us as I acknowledged his unspoken directive with a determined nod.

In a swift motion, Uhtred continued, his voice steady as he outlined the terms of Aethelwold's exile. "You will need silver to pay for the voyage," he declared.

As Uhtred flung the pouch containing the blood, Aethelwold's trembling fingers closed around it, clutching it to his chest as if it were his only salvation. The air hung heavy with anticipation.

I met Uhtred's gaze and a silent exchange passed between us. With a reassuring nod from Uhtred, he tossed me his dagger, an invitation to claim the mantle of justice.

Without hesitation, I seized the weapon. Time seemed to stand still as I plunged the blade into Aethelwold's chest, the sac of blood bursting upon impact in a visceral cascade of retribution.

Scarlet stained the forest floor as Aethelwold fell. Uhtred bestowed upon me the honour of avenging Ragnar, of sending him to Valhalla.

With a sense of grim satisfaction, I knew that Ragnar's legacy had been upheld, his memory enshrined in the blood-soaked earth beneath us. 

Collapsing to my knees, a primal scream tore from the depths of my being as I unleashed the full force of my fury upon Aethelwold. The dagger became an extension of my wrath, each stab into his lifeless body a symphony of pain and retribution. I surrendered to the tempest raging within me, the weight of every injustice driving me forward.

With each thrust of the dagger into his body I exorcised the demons that had long haunted me, the weight of every betrayal and injustice propelling me forward into the abyss of vengence.

As the frenzy of my assault upon Aethelwold reached its peak, a sudden, sharp pain pierced through the haze of my rage. With a gasp of realization, I felt the searing agony of my own hands gripping the sharp blade of the dagger, blood trickling down my fingers in crimson rivulets.

It was Uhtred's steady hand that broke the spell pulling me back from the brink of my self-inflicted torment. Gasping for air, I found refuge in his embrace, my ragged breaths a testament to the toll exacted by our quest, calling me back to myself.

Brida's arrival heralded a moment of respite. As sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting ethereal beams upon our weary forms, her words rang true.

"It is a bridge for Ragnar to cross over into Valhalla," she intoned and in that moment, laughter bubbled forth, a release of pent-up emotion as tears danced upon my cheeks.

"We did it," I murmured and Uhtred nodded in silent agreement, we stood together, a trio forged in blood and steel, honouring the memory of the fallen warrior, the brother who had held us together.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

Standing at a distance, I watched as Uhtred retrieved his necklace, a talisman of Thor's hammer, from Ragnar's final resting place.

As Uhtred stepped back, I felt compelled to draw nearer, with a soft exhale, I lowered myself to the ground, fingers tracing the rough contours of the stones that marked Ragnar's grave.

"Rest easy, brother, I love you," the words escaped in a whispered prayer, a final offering to a soul now beyond the reach of mortal pain.

Standing once more, I cast a lingering glance over the hallowed ground, a silent vow etched into the fabric of my being. With each step away from the grave, I felt a measure of peace settle over me, a balm to soothe the ache of loss that lingered in my heart.

As Uhtred and I left, the weight of my purpose hung heavy in the air. My mind churned with a frenzy of emotions, each thought a tempest swirling within the confines of my soul.

Lost in reverie, I found myself standing before him. With hesitant resolve, I closed the distance, Sihtric stood before me, his presence both comforting and unnerving in equal measure. How could I even begin to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings that had taken root in my heart?

"Sihtric," I started, my voice betraying the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of my resolve. "I don't know what to say." The admission hung heavily in the air, an acknowledgement of my own confusion.

His expression softened, a silent reassurance that he understood, even if I did not.

"I mean," I continued, my words stumbling over themselves in their haste to find clarity, "I appreciate everything you've done for me, truly, I do." The sincerity in my voice was undeniable, tinged with the ache of impending regret.

"But..." I trailed off, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. How could I articulate the conflicting emotions that waged war within me? How could I tell him that I was torn between the safety of familiarity and the unknown depths of something more?

A heavy silence settled between us, with unspoken questions and unfinished thoughts and then, without warning, an impulse seized hold of me, guiding my hand to his cheek.

His hand enveloped mine, a strong and reassuring grip. His eyes swept across the fresh wound across my palm from the dagger earlier. As his fingers delicately traced the gash, a shiver ran down my spine, the sensation both painful and strangely comforting.

Our eyes met in silent understanding, I leaned forward, my lips brushing against his in a hesitant, tentative gesture of longing and uncertainty.

The kiss lingered, a fragile bridge between what was and what could be and then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over, leaving in its wake a lingering sense of confusion and longing. I pulled away, my heart weighed down by the gravity of my indecision.

I knew that the path ahead remained uncertain, fraught with obstacles and unknown dangers but for now, in the quiet intimacy of that shared moment, I found comfort in the knowledge that I was in fact not alone, that whatever lay ahead, Sihtric would be there by my side, if I allowed it.

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

when he brings you the man you've wanted to torture >>>> also I know her 'confession' was not a confession but patience please this is only chapter 11 let her be confused 🤭