#but i promise itll become a bit more relevant later lmaoo

[osferth]

nainowale ne - part one

summary: Estrid does not know what to expect when she is taken to live with the Saxons. An unlikely friendship with their beloved princess turns into something more, a feeling she does not completely understand, but whether she will be able to come to terms with it is another matter entirely.

word count: 4.4k

tagging: @marv-llous @lauwrite1225 @maggiescarborough @volvaaslaug @wildwren @aadmelioraa​ @emilyhufflepufftlk @for-bebbanburg @poguesmaybank @cheerylogan @northumbria @geekandbooknerd @morosemagick

part two

Estrid's earliest memories were of her first journey to the south of the land, though not with the Saxons she would later serve. Her father, Gunnar Gunnarson, had been amongst the Danish raiding party that had ravaged several villages on its way south - and closer to Wessex. Estrid was instructed to learn the ways of a true Danish warrior since Gunnar had no sons to carry on his reputation. As a result, she joined her father through village after village, even though she was only ten years old. Despite her efforts, she was not as brave as she wished. By the time they rode away, her tears had usually dissolved the kohl on her face, and her father would scold her for that as he reapplied it. There is no use in crying for the dead, he would remind her.

Afterwards, the group spent a day resting in the woods. Estrid was twirling her seax in her hands again. She knew her father was less than pleased that it was still as clean as the day she had received it, but she could not bring herself to use it.

The decision was made to meet with a larger army of Danes at the next village, where they would then join forces and invade Wessex, finally sacking it. Estrid, on the other hand, couldn't lie to herself and pretend she wasn't frightened. In spite of her father's assurances that she would not be involved in the actual fight, her fear was redirected towards him.

“What if you die in battle, Father?” she asked that night, seated cross-legged beside him. 

Gunnar chuckled as he warmed his hands over the fire by the stream. “I will not, little one,” he told her earnestly. “I promise you.”

“But if you do,” Estrid pressed, refusing to let her father convince her so easily, “what then? What if we lose?”

“It is almost like you want me gone,” her father joked.

“Father.”

“Oh, alright,” Gunnar capitulated, turning to face his daughter. The amusement on his face had fallen away. “If all else fails, you must flee, Estrid. Until you find your people, run as fast as you can, as far as you can go. You must not let the Saxons catch you, but if they do… you’ll remember what I taught you, won’t you?”

“I will, Father,” Estrid said, more resolutely this time. She looked down at the seax in her belt and swallowed, hoping she would find enough courage if it came to it.

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The next morning, they rode towards the next village beyond the woods. But instead of simple villagers, they were met with soldiers - Saxon soldiers, and many of them at that. Estrid, like many of the other Danes around her, immediately recognised that something was wrong. Her father, whose horse was standing near the centre of the group, cursed under his breath.

“Get down,” he murmured to her at once.

“But I-”

“There is no time to argue, just get down!” he said insistently.

Estrid reluctantly did as she was told and ran to the back of the group. Her grip tightened around her seax as the Danes rode forward to meet the Saxons, her feet still planted firmly where she was standing. She knew they would not be able to leave without a fight, but from her position on her father’s horse, she could not have even begun to count the number of Saxons before them. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she began to wonder if this was a losing battle.

Only a shout from the Saxons was what prompted her to move, and she found a brief shelter behind a tree some metres away from the village gates. It was a safe enough distance for her to witness the clash, but nothing could have prepared Estrid for what she was about to see.

She did not care to look for anyone but her father, but she was straining to see him in the midst of the fray. Eventually, she spotted him; he was in vicious combat with a Saxon, his back turned away from her. Just as he managed to run the soldier through, Estrid noticed another emerge from behind him. She cried out to him, but the sound of swords clashing and the shouts of the men were too loud. The realisation came too late for Gunnar; as he whipped around, the man drew his sword back and plunged it directly into her father’s chest.

The sounds of battle fell away. Estrid’s eyes were impossibly wide as she stood there in stunned silence, watching Gunnar’s body crumple and fall to the ground.

Then she started screaming. She screamed and screamed until she could scream no more.

Gunnar Gunnarson was dead, and Estrid was alone. She did not want to wait any longer, for she knew it was finished. It felt as though she had lost everything.

And so the little girl forced herself to run. It took everything within her to turn away, but turn away she did, for the words of her father were all she had left of him. You must flee, Estrid. There is no use in crying for the dead.

Into the woods she escaped, while the fighting raged on behind her. Several times she became desperate to stop, but she only allowed herself a few seconds to breathe before she continued to run. She could not let the Saxons find her.

A long while had passed before Estrid finally decided to stop and rest by a stream. Upon finding it, she realised that she had run back the way she had come - it was the same stream beside which she had sat with her father just the night before. She slumped down in defeat, tears streaming down her face. Her body was aching badly and she was exhausted. She wiped her face roughly and cupped her trembling hands into the stream, lifting the water to her lips.

Estrid knew that she should have kept moving after that, for she was not safe yet, but she was too tired to care any longer. Nightfall came, yet she continued to curl up on the grass, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She had cried for several hours, but now she was numb. Estrid was only able to take comfort in the fact that her father was feasting in Valhalla with the rest of her ancestors. Holding her seax close to her heart, she finally closed her eyes and sent a prayer to the gods.

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The thundering of hooves jolted her awake only a short while later. Estrid quickly got to her feet and started to run without a moment’s hesitation. The sound was coming closer, so she forced herself to keep going. Somehow, she knew that whoever it was, was unwelcome to her. 

She could only outrun a horse for so long. It overtook her from behind and came to a stop just in front of her. Estrid recognised the man seated astride it as Saxon immediately, and her mouth twisted into a snarl. He may not have been the one to kill her father, but he was still a Saxon. And she was beginning to loathe Saxons.

“Little girl, what are you doing here by yourself?” he asked her. “Where are your mother and father?”

Estrid glared at him. With a shaking, rage-filled voice, she spat, “My father has gone to Valhalla.”

“Valhalla, eh?” the Saxon repeated tauntingly. “Is that what you believe?”

“It is true!” Estrid shouted. “It is true and you will all go to Hel!”

She was surrounded, but she refused to remain civil. The men around her simply laughed, infuriating the girl even more.

“Let’s take her to the king,” one suggested, and the others all began to voice their assent.

Estrid frantically shook her head. She looked down at her seax, but found she was unable to turn it on herself. Her fear was too great for her to end her life here. “No, no, I don’t want to, I won’t go-”

The ride to Winchester felt like a lifetime for Estrid. She ignored all the jibes and taunts and remained silent. Touching the seax, hastily shoved up her sleeve, helped her to stay calm - or as calm as she could be. Tears continued to stain her face, but she did not make a sound.

But she was powerless against them and had nowhere to run. The man dismounted and, ignoring her kicking and screaming, grabbed her and sat her on his horse, before climbing onto it himself. He clicked his tongue and they all began to set off in the opposite direction.

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They finally dismounted outside what Estrid assumed was the palace. The man immediately grabbed hold of her forearm, as though she would run away.

“Get off me!” Estrid snapped, but the man only held on tighter. “You’re hurting me!”

He ignored her and all but dragged her through the gates, down the hallways, past the guards who looked down their nose at her. She glared back at them for as long as she dared until she was met, finally, by the doors to the court itself.

It did not look the way she had envisioned the court of a king to be; it was a lot plainer and far smaller. Estrid looked around, and remembered then that these were Christians, known for their piety and humbleness - or at least, their attempts at appearing that way.

She turned to the front, where she expected the king to be. And indeed there he was, standing a few feet in front of his throne, but the sight of him surprised her. He, too, looked far more unassuming than she had anticipated the great King Alfred to be. His crown was as simple and plain as his court, his throne, even his clothes. Perhaps the piety of other Christians was all a big show, but with this man, it felt real.

“What is your name, young lady?” Alfred asked her, his voice gentler than the men that had brought her to this place. He stepped forward, but stopped when Estrid moved back a little.

Estrid had considered remaining silent, but he was a king and angering him would not do her any good, even if his demeanour was calm and collected. “I am Estrid Gunnarsdottir,” she said. The pride in her voice was evident to all present.

“I see. And your father was one of the Danes at Wincelcumb, was he not?” Alfred did not seem malicious, but simply curious.

“I don’t know if that was what the village was called,” Estrid said, “but yes. He was.” Her voice trembled slightly on the last two words, something Alfred picked up on immediately.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. Estrid frowned - she had not expected to be treated with any compassion, but she appreciated it, even if she was still suspicious of him.

“Thank you.”

If Alfred noticed that she refused to call him ‘lord’, he did not speak of it.

“Do you have any family left to return to?” he continued. Estrid paused, and then shook her head. She had only her father, and now he was gone, she was utterly alone. Dwelling on it would make her cry again, and she did not want that in a court full of Saxons, so she tried not to think about it too much.

“Will you kill me?” Estrid asked suddenly. Alfred looked at her, his brows furrowed.

“Certainly not,” he told her. “You must be close to the same age as my own daughter. Instead…" He pondered for a moment, before an idea appeared to strike him. "I shall send you to live with her maid. You will have a home and you will learn a trade, too.”

Estrid did not like the sound of being a mere maid, but she hoped it would only be temporary. They could not keep her here forever, and she certainly preferred it to being dead. She could not shake her guilt, however. Estrid had told her father she would turn the seax on herself if she was found by the Saxons, and yet here she was, standing in a foreign court full of her father’s enemies. She almost wished Alfred had treated her with the contempt he clearly treated her fellow Danes with, but she was only a child and he had been very lenient. Her throat tightened and she fought the urge to cry again as Alfred had the maid brought in.

The woman was in her mid-forties, if Estrid had to guess, and had a rather stern countenance. She learned her name was Gytha. Clearly, Gytha was not fond of the idea of housing the child of a Dane but, with orders from the king, she did not appear to have any say in the matter. Instead, she simply thanked the king and ushered Estrid out of the courtroom.

“I expect you will be baptised soon enough,” Gytha said briskly. “It would not do to have a Danish girl serve the princess of Wessex.”

“Does the princess of Wessex have a name?” Estrid asked innocently enough. Gytha glared at her and suddenly pinched her arm. Estrid winced. “What?”

“You have a lot of training ahead of you,” Gytha snapped, “if you are to continue speaking in such an impertinent manner. The princess is called Aethelflaed, and if you are caught speaking to her the same way you have spoken to me, you will be punished.”

Estrid nodded, rolling her eyes when Gytha looked away. She had no idea what impertinent meant, but she assumed that whatever she had said had displeased Gytha. It was not as though she had meant any rudeness by it, she thought irritably.

Gytha led her to the quarters where Estrid would be staying alongside her, and announced her intention to have the girl cleaned up before the night was over.

“You cannot be wandering around the palace halls dressed like a Dane, the queen would have a fit. One is already enough as it is,” Gytha added, muttering under her breath. Estrid smiled to herself, though she wondered what the woman meant. Was there another like her?

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Gytha had taken Estrid to the river nearby to bathe, because in her words, she was “absolutely filthy”. Estrid thought it was an exaggeration, but at this point she knew better than to argue with her. Turning Estrid into a Saxon girl meant teaching her all the customs of the palace, including how to address different people, how to behave “in general”, as Gytha had said and, most importantly, removing any physical signs of being a Dane. Her unruly brown hair was now pinned back in two braids, her clothes replaced with a blue linen dress and a dirty white apron to go over the top. 

 Estrid privately thought she looked incredibly stupid, but Gytha seemed positively delighted at the results.

“You look just like a little Saxon girl now!” she said, her voice devoid of any contempt. Estrid was only happy that her appearance had served to lessen the woman’s distrust of her, but she did not like the way she looked one bit.

Danish blood was what ran through her veins. It was something that she vowed to never let herself forget, even if she was now clothed as a Saxon. She could almost imagine her father laughing at how she had been transformed, and she was unsure whether the thought cheered her up or made her want to cry even more.

Her seax had been discovered and confiscated by Gytha, despite much protestation from Estrid. But Gytha stood her ground - Estrid was a Dane still, and had a long way to go before she could be fully trusted. She would get it back when she had proven she was trustworthy.

Estrid was furious. She had no intention of playing by their rules, not when the only artefact she had had of her father’s had been taken away from her.

It was nearly midnight when Estrid was sent back to her quarters, which she now shared with Gytha. Fortunately for her, Gytha was a deep sleeper, and also evidently not very good at concealment. Estrid discovered her seax under Gytha’s pillow after a quick search, and quietly drew it out. The girl only wanted it for comfort, and so she crept back into bed. Pressing it to her chest the way she had only a few hours ago, she began to think of her father again, and silently cried herself to sleep.

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Morning arrived, and Estrid was awoken by a shadow over her bed. She started and sat up, finding Gytha standing over her bed with a displeased look on her face… and her seax in her hand. Estrid sighed and rubbed her eyes, a little sore from the previous night’s tears.

“I should have known not to trust you,” Gytha snapped. “Did I not expressly tell you that you could have it back once you-”

“But I didn’t use it!” Estrid protested, cutting across her. “I did nothing with it! I just wanted it because… because it was my father’s.”

She trailed away, looking down at her hands, while Gytha paused. When she did not speak for some time, Estrid frowned and looked up. It did not seem like Gytha to be silent for long.

Gytha was looking at her in what appeared to be sympathy, which took Estrid aback more than anything.

“I should have realised, child,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. But you must understand,” she continued quickly, though without any of her previous anger, “it is still a weapon, and if you are to be trusted around Princess Aethelflaed you cannot have it unsheathed. I shall try and find you a scrap of leather to sheathe it in, and perhaps you can carry it around that way. If you promise not to take it out,” she added sternly.

Estrid smiled, despite Gytha’s tone. “Yes, of course!” she said, her spirits lifting slightly. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me, child,” Gytha replied, and though her voice might have returned to its usual flatness, Estrid noticed the ghost of a smile pass over her face.

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Several weeks had passed since that day. Gytha was taking her role very seriously, meaning Estrid was trained in the strictest manner - although she always strived to keep Estrid’s fragile state in mind, something the girl was grateful for. She was taking her father’s death very hard. But if she was to serve a princess, she would have to be as well-behaved as possible. It took a long while before Gytha felt Estrid’s behaviour and mannerisms were up to scratch.

Estrid was washing her face and getting dressed as quickly as she could, something that prompted a scolding from Gytha. But the girl could not help herself. She had been promised she would be meeting the princess that day, “under strict supervision, of course, and only after breakfast, you impatient little imp!”

No insult could dissuade her. She had never met a princess before. Of course, she had met a king, but a princess felt much more interesting, especially one who was her own age - there could be a friend found with her. The only thing that held her back slightly was the fact that these were Saxons. Her guilt at not feeling hatred towards every last one of them resurfaced every time she had a positive interaction with them - mostly Gytha, though she was sure the same would go for the princess.

Gytha continued to scold her for the way she “shovelled that food down”, and for the way that she hurtled towards the door. Estrid was forced to wait there until Gytha finished her own food as maddeningly slowly as possible, before she was finally allowed outside.

“Where is Aethelflaed?” Estrid asked, looking around. Gytha huffed.

“She is a princess, or have you forgotten already? She’ll be in the garden, I expect. The weather is lovely this morning.”

“Well, where is it?” Estrid asked impatiently, causing Gytha to roll her eyes.

“You’re standing in it right now. She is over there.”

Estrid followed Gytha’s gaze to where Princess Aethelflaed was. She was with another woman, and their backs were turned to them - evidently she hadn’t noticed the presence of the maid and the Dane girl.

Just as she was about to walk over and meet her, Gytha gripped her arm. “Please remember your manners when you speak to her, for heaven’s sake,” she whispered.

“Yes, yes, I promise,” Estrid said quickly, shaking her arm free and walking over to the princess. “Uh - excuse me… Lady,” she added, remembering the title.

Aethelflaed closed her book and turned around, greeting Estrid with a smile. Her hair was a light brown, though it looked slightly blonde in the light, and her dress was simpler than Estrid would have predicted. But Alfred was her father, she remembered, and they all dressed simply. Despite that, it was not quite as simple as Estrid’s own dress - befitting of a Christian princess, she supposed.

“Hello,” the girl said, with all the politeness of a stranger making an acquaintance. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, what’s your name?”

Estrid smiled back, deciding Aethelflaed was agreeable, if rather regal for a ten-year-old. “I’m Estrid,” she said shyly. Now she was in the presence of a princess, her bravery dwindled a little. “I think your father wants me to be your maid.”

“Oh!” Aethelflaed said. “But I already have two.”

She gestured to Gytha and the other maid, who were engaged in conversation now.

“Yes, but they’re old, aren’t they?” Estrid said matter-of-factly. Aethelflaed’s sudden laughter caught her by surprise, and caught the attention of the two older women.

Estrid felt a little guilty upon seeing Gytha smiling over at her.

“I suppose you’re right,” Aethelflaed said after her laughter had died down. “I don’t really have any friends. No one my age, anyway.”

“Why?” Estrid asked. “I thought you’d have a lot. Wouldn’t everyone like to be friends with a princess?”

Aethelflaed blushed. “I wouldn’t know.” She looked thoughtfully at Estrid for a moment. “Would you like to be my friend?”

“Yes, if that’s alright,” Estrid replied, beaming. “But I might forget to call you ‘lady’ sometimes, I hope you won’t get upset.”

“Estrid, you’ve only called me ‘lady’ once today,” Aethelflaed pointed out. Now it was Estrid’s turn to flush.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Um - Lady.”

Aethelflaed burst out laughing again. Estrid was totally confused at this point.

“I really don’t mind what you call me,” the princess admitted. “You’ll have to be careful around my mother and father, though. I don’t think they’d be very happy if you forgot.”

“I’ve heard about the queen,” Estrid said, remembering what Gytha had said. “Apparently she doesn’t like Danes very much. Gytha said something about ‘one being enough’...?”

Aethelflaed grinned suddenly. “She probably means Uhtred,” she explained. Estrid frowned - the name was unfamiliar to her. But before she could find out any more, Aethelflaed fixed her with a searching look.

“Estrid doesn’t sound like a Saxon name,” she said thoughtfully. “Are you a Dane, too?”

Estrid was bright pink by this point, but she couldn’t lie to a princess. “Yes,” she admitted. “But didn’t your father tell you about me? It’s been a while since I got here.”

“No,” Aethelflaed said. “Maybe he was keeping you secret as a surprise.” The two of them giggled before Estrid remembered what she had wanted to ask.

“So who is Uhtred? If he’s the only other Dane here, I’d like to meet him too.”

“Why, so you can get together and plot to overthrow my father?” Aethelflaed joked, earning her a gentle shove from Estrid. The girl realised what she had done precisely a second afterwards, and began apologising profusely. Thankfully Gytha hadn’t noticed, and Aethelflaed simply waved off her apologies.

“Don’t worry!” she said sincerely. “If we’re friends, I’d rather you treated me like you’d treat any of your other friends. And to answer your question,” she added, “he’s a warrior. He fights in battle with my father… and he fights with my father too. All the time. Sometimes I wonder why Uhtred continues to come here if all they ever do is argue.”

“Maybe your father pays him a lot,” Estrid suggested. “Why else would a Dane live with Saxons?”

“Are you getting paid a lot by my father too, then?” Aethelflaed asked innocently, catching Estrid off-guard. 

“I wish,” she said, sighing dramatically. “But I have to be your friend for free. Maybe when we’re older you can pay me back.”

“How?”

Estrid thought for a moment. “I could have my own palace with a big garden and lots of horses,” she suggested.

“Don’t you only need one horse? You can’t ride more than one at the same time.”

“Yes, but horses need friends,” Estrid reminded her. “They get lonely too.”

“I know what that’s like,” Aethelflaed sighed. “I only really have maids for company. Sometimes my parents too, but if we’re all together it’s usually to pray. I play chess with my father whenever he is free, which isn’t for long. It’s because my brother is still too young to play with. He cries a lot and my mother is always fussing over him,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” Estrid said. “I wish I did, but I suppose I had the other children that lived nearby to play with. I don’t think I’d like to be a princess, it sounds too strict for me.”

“Still, at least I have you to be friends with,” Aethelflaed pointed out, smiling. “How much of the palace have you seen? I can show you around…”

The rest of the morning was spent doing just that. With Gytha’s permission, the two of them were allowed to traipse around the palace, while Gytha followed them from a safe distance.

Estrid’s rebellious nature was in complete opposition to Aethelflaed’s gentle, kind disposition, but by the time Aethelflaed was called away for prayers, the two of them had become solid friends. Estrid had all but forgotten her guilt over befriending Saxons by then, and it did not come back to shadow her since.