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bhxrdy · 4 months

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if i had a heart | finan

author's note: this came to me in the span of a lunch hour. nothing supernatural this time, just regular finan during his kingdom era. lots of fighting and lots of angst. thank you to sweet angsti & @gemini-mama for being my betas! to whoever will read this, hoping you will enjoy! lots of love & stay safe 💕

Another day, another war.

Lost in the thickness of battle, in the midst of blood, dirt and agony, he fought primarily for survival and second for victory.

There was no space for the mind, the body having taken control of all his senses; he became a puppet, guided by the strings of his master as his movements were met with agility, ruthlessness and hunger.

The clashes of swords sang chaotically, the harmonies calling for Death with its mighty chorus articulating the choreography to its final spiral, tilt and jump.

He fought with all his might, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, tiredness etching itself onto every inch of him.

He had to go on - there was no choice in the matter.

He met every opponent with brutal force, his arms swaying as he gripped his sword and dagger tighter within his palms, the handles encrusting themselves onto his skin; he kept moving on, following the steps of Death’s dance, entranced by the motion, until he took a tumble of his own.

It was sudden, the harsh impact he met against the ground; he landed on his back, the air escaping his lungs at the sudden abrasion.

It took him a moment to regain himself, shaking off the heaviness of the blow while he tried to move.

He was stuck against the grass, unable to get to his feet.

Only then did he notice he was being stared at; cold eyes locked onto his, shocked as they took him in.

He mirrored the other’s expression, incapable of breathing as realization dawned onto him, the weight hitting him like bricks onto his head.

The warrior furrowed its brow, left in disbelief at what they were seeing.

To each other, the pull of their throats reached for one another, screaming amid the noise surrounding them within the short seconds they made contact.

“Finan?!”

“Áine?!”

Both names spoken in unison, both drudging up a past from dust, the woman’s features swayed swiftly to an amused look.

She smirked to his bewildered gaze, her lips letting out a soft scoff with a glint of the devil twinkling in her eyes.

“It’s Katla, actually.”

It was bloody, and dirty; the screams of men - of her friends - covered her ears in such torment, she could only drown the noise out with the vibration of her weapons, her sword in one hand, her shield in the other.

She was battered and bruised, just like the rest of them, her skin painted in mire and crimson, the war adding color to her disheveled braids.

She kept moving, refusing to slow down at any cost.

It was glory or it was Valhalla - the motto carved into her bones as she moved to the drums of footsteps, the quiver of swords.

Men were falling around her, a praying mantis devouring her opponents with starvation trembling at her core.

All went well, she stood taller by the growing ration until she met a worthy adversary - a man she had not thought about in a long time.

It was only when she pushed him to his back, only when was she using her weight to ground him, did she finally notice who she was fighting.

Her heart stopped.

For a split of a second, she was back in Ireland - in the throes of unmitigated foolery, in the middle of lies and deception, in the center of lust and carnal depravity - until she was pulled back to war with a blow to her body.

She met the ground, the mud staining her armor as he firmly held her, forcing her still though she did not listen.

She never did.

She started fighting him off, using her strength to push him off her.

He had questions, so many of them, they grew and grew until they took over him, phasing him out of the sudden pain she inflicted on him.

Unable to move her upper body, she used her legs; she used her knee and kicked him right between his legs inciting a wounded groan from his throat.

She pushed him away and took a breath as she jumped to her feet, the Irishman taking his own moment before following her as well.

Everything else surrounding them was gone; the cries of battles shut off as they stared at one another.

He was looking at a ghost he thought, his eyes never wavering away from the woman that stood in front of him.

He remembered her as an Irish maid working in his castle, a woman he had encountered many years ago when he was but a prince.

The woman he had fallen in love with - Áine.

But they were ripped apart by duplicity and illusion, and they never saw each other again.

Not until today.

He couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore, the blood running cold through his veins.

They were in a standstill, unable to speak as heavy breaths caught up to their lungs.

She quickly picked up her sword, her shield left at her feet.

She was about to take the first step and run away, to leave him without uttering another sound, when she saw Finan quickly glance behind her. It was almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Katla turned around just in time to stop another man from hitting her.

She met him with her blade striking the other, the contact trembling through her wrists and arms as they hung closely against her cheek. She noticed the pendant hanging around his neck, Thor’s hammer standing out proudly. She huffed mockery under her breath and pushed through, forcing him away from her with no harm to her skin.

She engaged in a fight with the newcomer, the woman using her strength to defeat him; she was close to winning, the moment long duel was seeing its end just as she hit the other man, making him fall to his knees.

She was to strike, her weapon famished for blood when Finan ran to her, stopping her from killing his brother in arm. The Irishman pulled her away, the sudden movement causing her to stumble backwards until she was caged within the man’s embrace, her arms stuck by the sides of her body, her sword fallen on the ground.

She cursed at him while Sihtric stood at his feet, wiping the blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“Let me go!” She was trying to fight her way out of Finan’s arms, her body moving against the tightness of his grasp as she yelled for his demise.

She then saw Sihtric coming at her; once he was close enough, she used her legs and lifted them up high enough to kick the Dane in the face before she used the back of her head and knocked Finan, the impact violently echoing against her skull and his nose.

She fell to the floor as she was released from his hold. She went for her sword and her shield and ran away without looking back, getting herself back into the battle she had fallen out from for the short minutes.

Recuperating themselves from the aggressive blow they just met, Sihtric yelled at Finan while catching his breath.

“Who is that?!”

Finan couldn’t find an answer - he wasn’t able to conjure up the words as they died in the back of his throat, his gaze stuck to the woman disappearing within the mass of bloodied bodies.

His shoulders depleted, still processing what he had just witnessed, what he had just gone through.

He was lost in his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the mother land for just a moment; it was the hectic sound from the Dane that brought him back to the battlefield, the other man calling for him as he threw Finan’s abandoned weapon back at him.

The Irishman caught the sword, startled as the noise came back to cover his ears.

The second the handle nestled itself into the imprint of his palm, he fell back into the choreography, the dance steps swiftly coming to life at the motion of his body.

Time was lost amid the war that raged against the fields, its green decaying for ruby and clay.

The fight was over, and King Edward’s army was victorious.

Katla remained away from the crowd, not wanting to be found as she hid away within the woods.

She sat on the ground against the trunk of a tree, her body numb and weak as she bled, the darkening red marking her with disdain.

She attempted to steady her hands as she worked around her wound, which resided close to the right side of her abdomen; the Saxon sword that pierced her was unforgiving, unrelenting, determined to see her die.

She was refusing to listen, to give in when she wasn’t done with her fight.

She tried patching her bruise, tearing a piece of her clothes to cover and apply pressure in the hopes to calm the bleeding. She wrapped it around her and made a knot tight enough to occupy weight over the cut, freeing her hands.

She leaned her head back, resting it against the tree, and closed her eyes.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that seeped through her body, her skin sustaining several cuts and blues.

She could feel tears lining across her eyelids; she refused to let them escape. She forbade herself from tumbling further than she had already, not wanting to accept such weakness that befell her.

She had to get up to her feet, she had people to look for.

She had a fight to finish.

Her moment of silence then broke, shooting her eyes open in attention. She heard the soft crunches of branches break on the ground and stuck her back further against the trunk, carefully reaching for her sword while ignoring the tremors of her hand.

Adrenaline budding in the pit of her stomach, she tightened her grip against the handle, her head slightly tilted towards the noise.

She prepared herself for a duel - it was either the enemy or one of her own. The telling would be the appearance.

“O-oh-”

He froze in his steps, taken aback by the sight in front of him.

She furrowed her brows, not recognizing the intruder.

The young one examined her silently, noticing her state as he swallowed a shaken breath, holding his fear back. “Y-you’re hurt.”

Katla didn’t answer.

She remained calm, taking in the man’s stance. He had dirty blonde hair, light eyes and his armor only covered his upper body under his robe.

A monk, she thought.

She cursed under her breath, leaning her head backwards and looking away from him for a moment.

The man in question slowly backed away, glancing between Katla and the view to the edge of the forest behind him, where everyone else remained.

She heard his voice again, louder as he called for attention.

She turned her head back to him, alarmed, and used whatever strength she had left to get up to her feet, her sword acting as an anchor.

The adrenaline growing within her, she went after him.

Taken by surprise at the outburst, he felt weight blowing right into his stomach, bringing him to his knees as he coughed. She roughly pulled him from the back, gripping at the collar of his clothes as she heard rapid footsteps approaching them.

She then picked out her dagger and held it in front, the blade ghosting over the young monk’s neck. A slight fearful whimper escaped him, drowned by the upcoming noise that came for him.

Finan had started running, hearing panic coming from the woods.

His feet taking flight, he stopped suddenly when he saw Osferth with a sword hanging over him, ready for the kill.

He looked up to meet the predator; the color drained from his face, his eyes wide in horror, in shock.

Katla couldn’t move, the throbbing pain becoming the storm with heavy waves thrashing at her every particle. She pushed the discomfort aside the best she could, gripping at what she held, clenching her jaw and staring straight back at Finan with nothing but spite covering her irises.

“Stay away or I’ll kill the monk.”

Finan dropped his weapon, arms up in the air in surrender. He was cautious, careful not to provoke her. “Áine, be sensible. You don’t have to do this.”

“F-Finan, she’s wounded!” Osferth’s voice broke through, the young one attempting to dissuade the situation; he didn’t dare move, knowing that one inch could get him killed. And so, he remained on his knees, afraid.

Katla hit him in retaliation, making him groan at the impact while his head started pounding as a result.

He spoke again, the tremors reaching his tongue, not yet ready to give up. “W-e can h-help you-”

She hissed, speaking through her teeth as she leaned by his ear, tugging at his collar and slightly tightening it around his neck. “Shut it unless you want the knife in your throat, monk.”

Finan stared in fright, his body frozen, his heart erratic against his ribcage.

She had lost her accent - the sweetness of her Irish dying and dissipating from the illusion she had created so long ago.

It all came back to him like a flood in the middle of the desert, sand turning to mud and growing heavy at the weight of their past.

‘Katla, she said.’ Her real name resonated between his ears, his heart cracking with every letter. He still carried her after so long had passed - from the moment she had appeared when he was but a young prince, to the day they met across the Irish fields, his army against hers, to today - when they met again, years later.

She had infiltrated herself into his life, manipulated his heart like a pawn on a chess board; each movements intricately thought from the lingering stares, to the soft touches, to the gentle hush of words and to the aching pleasures of the flesh - all done to encage the king, falling in front of his queen, powerfully seducing him to defeat.

He had learned of her origins during battle - when his kingdom was in danger from Danes, from her, his treacherous beloved.

Though his heart broke at the sight, when their swords met, when the clashing of metals reverberated through his bones - he was changed man.

He needed to be, as he had his people to defend, his family to protect.

“The fallen prince of Irland!” She muttered a chuckle, mocking him almost while still holding onto the monk. “You were meant to be dead. How did you survive your ship?”

Rumors had spread of the prince’s liaison with his brother’s wife; how he fell in love, carried out a secret affair, ran away with the milk maid - and how he was disowned and sold to a slave ship.

She hadn’t let the news phase her, even ignoring the little speck of ache that twisted her heart.

She had done her duty, accepted the consequence and moved on.

Finan swallowed the lump in his throat, still careful. “And what about you? The last I saw of you-”

“I died?” She let out another rumble at the back of her throat. “Surprise.” She spoke in a light tone, antagonizing him.

The last he saw of her was the moment she had been carried away by a horse during their duel; the impact should’ve killed her, her body flying from the animal’s breast. She had been so close to killing him but was saved by the grace of the beast.

She had to be a ghost, he thought.

A nightmare.

He watched her, eyes wide, as she held onto her hostage, the poor monk fearful for his life.

Finan took a step, a small one. She tightened her hold around Osferth’s collar, making the young man groan from the discomfort.

“I told you not to move.”

He ignored her words, remaining still on his feet. “Am I really going to fight you again?”

She shrugged with no care. “You decide.”

“Áine-”

Feigning exasperation, she shook her head, displaying a farce of disapproval. “It’s Katla. Katla. Áine is dead. Your pretentious little maid is long gone.”

He exhaled a breath, a saddened sigh toppling over the depth of him. “Why?”

“Have the English waters dull your brain, Irishman?” She huffed, slightly bemused by his lack of thought.

“Katla.” He pressed onto the letters, her true name straining at the edge of his teeth.

She held her head higher, the taunting smirk carved into the right side of her lips. “Now, we’re learning.”

A soft torturous groan escaped Osferth once again, putting Finan on his toes. “Let him go, I beg of ya.”

“You’re begging now?” She shared a baffled chuckle, enjoying herself despite the tickling ache that bore into her. “Years apart and nothing has changed.” She slightly loosened her hold onto the boy’s throat, leaning on her good side as her eyes remained on Finan, dying for some entertainment.

“Do you remember when you used to plead to me, darling? Begging for pleasure, swearing with that tongue of yours, imploring me to give you what you desperately wanted.”

She was taunting him, the sound of her voice growing in degradation against the man standing in front of her.

And the more she spoke, she used her words as armor against the throbbing pain that emanated across her limbs, the blood of her open wound seeping through the fabric of her shirt.

She remained tall, firmly holding her knife against Osferth while she did not look away from Finan, ignoring the movements that slowly came to surround them. They were interrupted by a small crowd; other warriors having joined him in helping free one of their own from her grasp.

She took a sharp breath, swallowing the lump lodged at the back of her throat, and quickly glanced around the new bodies trapping her like an animal.

Terror filled her, submerging her under its weight as ache pricked like a needle, forcing her body to surrender.

She still decided to remain ignorant, refusing to listen to the pleas.

She was not going to let him win.

Some of the men slowly approached them, just as Finan did once again.

Though he remained alert to the situation, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hang on any longer; it was clear from the look in her eyes, from the growing uncertainty that tainted her pupils. She was hurt, her body at her mercy for rest.

She saw them move and yelled, her voice booming across the distorted circle. “Do not get any closer, Finan!”

One of the men dismissed the hostile words, noting that the injured Dane would not be able to hold her own.

At the sight of movement, Katla fought back, proceeding with her promise.

The tip of her blade grazed the boy’s neck, firmly enough to create a thin red line to appear against his dirty skin.

He winced at the burn, feeling blood slowly flowing from the bruise.

The contact agitated Finan as he yelled to the other men, his voice loud with authority and irritation. “Stop! Stop moving!” He looked around to make sure the men were following his orders before tilting back to Katla.

Determination at his feet, he stared her down. “Let him go. You don’t want him. It’s me you want, love.”

The words had slipped out unintentionally.

She chuckled, shrugging it off as it held no meaning to her; Finan had regretted it as soon as had come out, old habits gnawing at him from cracks under his bones.

“I don’t want you. I want my freedom.” She spoke through her teeth, her hand jerking the young man with one sharp wave, the fabric of his collar pulling at his throat.

Finan raised his arms in the air once again, speaking attentively as he eyed his friend before looking up to the woman. “Then you’ll have it. Just let him go. Please.”

A darkening smile reached her, almost stunned. “Again with the begging!”

The second violent motion she did against Osferth was not as strong as he had expected; Osferth had sensed the warrior was growing weaker, the hold of her knife against him trembling ever so gently.

The blood loss was apparent now that they were in a stalemate.

Finan was about to speak once again, trying to reason with her when a sudden strike caught them off guard.

She felt an abrupt searing sting on her left upper arm, forcing her to drop her weapon alongside her hostage; an arrow had been shot, the item penetrating through with its head sticking on the back of her arm.

To the loss of contact, Osferth set himself free as he got up to his feet and turned while backing himself away from her.

With Katla now defenceless, Sihtric ran and grabbed a hold of her, forcing her arms behind her back just as Finan followed, making sure Osferth was well.

She struggled within her caged trap, her lungs burning from the ruthlessness of her voice as she screamed from pain and from anger. She was forced to follow the Saxon men as they dragged her away from the trees, her steps leading her to the edge of the forest.

She met Finan in passing, the deadly glare sending shivers down his spine, his blood running cold once again. He saw red lining the inside of her dried lips, the color painting the inside of her mouth down her throat.

She coughed a blood clot and spit it right at his feet in pure distain.

Finan remained still, his heart shattered. Unable to look at her anymore, he turned away letting Sihtric take the lead as he pushed the woman forward.

He did not move, running a hand from his hair down his beard as he took a breath as gentle panic made him tremble.

This could not be real, he thought.

She was meant to be dead, to have succumbed to brutal force the last time they had fought.

He cursed, a short breath escaping him as his hands rested on his hips, taking in today’s events. She had stood in front of him, as alive as ever, as enraging as ever, as frustrating and as beautiful as ever.

He shouldn’t have been surprised anymore; he should’ve learned from his past lessons. She had deceived him before, hurt him - so why not again?

He found her sword a feet away, along with her dagger. He picked both of her weapons and trailed behind the others, his mind losing control within the traffic, his thoughts jammed one into the other.

She soon found herself forced to limp back to camp as the King ordered the death to the Dane survivors - including her.

She was forced to stand on her knees in front of the man in question. She spat at his feet, blood reaching his boots, and spoke as she stared straight into his eyes, with all the malice in the world.

She could tell he was close to snapping, her words irritating his ears; she found it amusing how easily it was to break him.

But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She smirked, brow arched as she harassed him, ready for the final blow.

Instead, he remained unmoving, simply looking at her with his temper simmering at the edge. “You should be thankful your death will be swift. I might as well leave you here to suffer your wounds.”

“Why don’t you?” She cussed at him once again, a spit of blood landing on the wet grass.

Edward ignored her words, turning his attention away as he called for one of his own.

Katla recognized the name, the letters having been cursed so many times, by so many people.

She was finally going to meet the one they called the Dane Slayer.

He walked towards them, his sword in hand and his back straight. She observed him as he spoke to the king, her focus placed on them without a care for what was going on around her.

She clenched her jaw when a sharp pain throbbed on her right side. She took in a deep breath, clenching her left fist with her fingers digging into her palm while her right hand went for the wound, pressing gently and ignoring the uselessness of the movement.

Her weapons were thrown by her side; she did not lift her head up to see the Irishman looking down at her.

She picked up her sword with tremor coursing through her veins, using the ground as a reliable surface before adjusting herself back on her knees. She lifted her sword so the point of the blade pierced the grass, the body standing proudly in front of her, dressed in the blood and cries of its victims.

She dismissed the ache that gnawed at her, from the bruised arm, the multiple cuts, the headache to the stab wound she had suffered from earlier on.

Resting her hands on the pommel, she let go of her stomach, the blood trailing down from her waist while the one on her arm mimicked the flow; now open and freely escaping. The attempt at bandaging overthrowing its usefulness.

She kept one knee on the ground, the other bent, and lifted her head to stare straight at her executioner, daring him with a glower, a sparkling of venom.

“Do it.” She arched her brow, not wavering away from the blue in his eyes, the words spitting out of her with red tainting her lips. “Glory or Valhalla.”

Finan stood on the sidelines, silently watching, completely disheartened.

She was the enemy, so why did he care for her predicament? Why was he praying for her survival when he knew deep down it would have still meant nothing to her?

Why hold a flame for the betrayal he suffered?

He was but a young man when they first met. She had become a breath of fresh air sweeping him away from the suffocating life of a prince - she had become his distraction, titillating him with such sin within his castle walls and beyond, it had created friction with his former life.

She was of the devil, they said - a danish spy that had infiltrated her way in as an Irish maid, seeking secrets from within.

The truth of it all was only divulged across the field, the day they had fought. She had become the snake in the garden, an illusion of blissfulness to the morose life of a royal.

She had torn him apart, deceived him, entrapped him in guilt and shame. Only when he met someone else had it all dissolved, dissipating from his mind as the warrior became but a ghost, death trapping her and pulling her away from his thoughts. Only when he met his brother’s wife had everything truly changed.

Katla tightened the grip on her sword, trying to push passed the physical affliction coursing through her body, the blood swimming down like a quiet river, running away from the confine of its old vessel.

Uhtred lifted his sword, ready to proceed with the King’s order in reluctance.

The end of the blade was hovering above her chest, right under her pendant.

She closed her eyes, took a breath as she finally welcomed Death, singing prayers to the gods for a seat at the table.

It was over. The growing weakness hovering around her deafened her hearing, making her finally give up.

She waited for the blow, the blade to push through and kill her.

She had waited, and waited but nothing came of it.

Too long seemed to have passed.

She frowned as she opened her eyes only to find Finan standing in front of her with Uhtred walking away. The Irishman had quietly pleaded his friend to stop and not go through with the prosecution.

She grew angry, she was annoyed.

She was pissed off. “Are you going to put me through the sword?”

Finan sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. You’re free to go.”

She was startled by his words but did not let it show, her eyes locking him in while trying to understand his surrender.

He had the opportunity of a lifetime. To kill her and avenge what had happened with him back in Ireland. To get revenge against her betrayal.

She could not comprehend why he was letting her go when a simple swift motion of his sword could give him everything he’s ever wanted.

“What are you doing? Is this a trick?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, taking a second before looking away from her. “No trick. Just go.”

She was unrelenting, struck with quiet disbelief. “You sparing my life doesn’t change anything. I’ll find you in the next battle and kill you if I ever come across your sword again.”

The bourgeoning anger boiling within the remains of her blood gave her strength, mitigating the pain within her weakening body.

She leaned against her sword, a dark chuckle escaping her dry throat as she swallowed the clot that wanted out.

Finan couldn’t stand this any longer. Mirroring her emotions, he became irritated. “What the hell is the matter with ya?!” His voice echoed with sudden acuity, catching her off guard for a split of a second, waiting for his loss of control. “It wasn’t enough you destroyed my life in Irland, you had to come after me again here?!”

“I’m sorry, love.” The mockery in her tone, as she spat her words, sent shivers down his spine, the unwelcoming strain of syllables raising his skin. “Did I step on your crown again?”

“Áine-”

“It’s Katla.”

He huffed, aggravated by the dissonance of her state. He was close to reaching his limits, standing right at the precipice of a cliff. “Who are you?”

The right side of her bloodied lips curved upwards, an amused smirk gracing him. “I’m the woman you loved, remember?” A low chuckle escaped her once again. “Sweet Áine, a simple maid for the impressionable Irish prince that needed distraction from his duties.”

Taking in her words, he dropped his head, his heart growing heavier.

“Did you ever love me?” He spoke softly, a strenuous task grabbing him by the throat.

He didn’t know why he asked when it had been ever so clear, but the words needed out, they needed to be spoken and thrown into the air for breath.

She pondered, in mockery. “No. I never had the heart for you, my dearest. You know this.”

“I do. Which is why I’ll sleep better knowing ya are about to die.”

A small laugh out, the devilish snark across her face sent daggers straight into his chest. “You’re just as much of a coward as you were in Irland. Pity you couldn’t hold your crown.”

He sighed at her words and gave her one last look of guilt before he turned his back on her, walking away and leaving her where she still sat on the ground.

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pushed herself up to her feet, a groan from the back of her throat escaping her.

She knew her body was betraying her; she felt weaker by the minute, her heart straining to keep her alive, desperate for eternal sleep.

She coughed again, the strength of the disruption making her spit as a blood trail left her lips to reach the mud in front of her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she eyed her old lover while he was already a couple of feet away from her.

She was given mercy and she hated them for it.

“I-I’m not done with you!” She struggled to speak, her voice hoarse as she tried to call for him. “F-Finan-” She grabbed her waist, her hand pressed over her wound while stumbling, falling on one knee.

He ignored her, not having the heart to deal with her any longer; he had to give her up once and for all.

Back on her feet again, she groaned from the pain, the rumble shaking her to her core, her eyes never looking away from him.

She held her sword tightly and took a leap, running after him.

She wasn’t done with him just yet.

Warrior instinct gripped at him, like a moth to a flame.

He heard the rapid footsteps behind him, heavy and struggling. He made a quick turn without a second thought and grappled at the body that came to him.

It took him a moment to realize what he had done – he saw heartlessness coated in darkness; it was cold and harsh, it was grey and callous. He was staring right into her eyes, his own wailing aghast.

His left hand gripped her shoulder, the other one holding his dagger as the blade sunk right at the upper centre of her stomach.

They remained frozen, simply staring at each other in shock and horror.

Jolts of reality striking him, he slowly let go of the knife, catching her in his arms as she fell against him. He cursed to himself while rambling continuous apologies through his heavy breaths, his voice broken while whispering closely against her, lips to ears, his ‘I’m sorry’s’ with misery, the letters repeated over and over again like a prayer.

A guttural scream ricochet across the field as Katla was cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her as he fell to the ground; the voice from afar held anguish and terror, shaking the earth underneath them.

Tears in his eyes, he was succumbed under sorrow and regret, wondering why his heart wore him heavy when he should have felt lighter, content that she was finally meeting her end, hating her for what she had done to him.

Yet, he seemed incapable of complying.

She had died in Ireland. The woman in front of him was simply a ghost, a phantom. A shadow of the woman he had once deeply loved.

Hearing the shattered screams, he turned his head to find a young woman freeing herself forcefully from some Saxons’ grasp before she started running towards him.

Finan held tighter onto Katla, his gaze falling back to her as she was patiently waiting for her last breath.

She could only watch him, no words escaping as her mouth drowned under the weight of her blood. She was struggling to breathe, his heart squeezing itself under his chest as he stroked her hair away from her bruised face.

She found herself smirking at him, a light tug of her lips while she remained mute under his quivering touch. He was holding onto her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it to be a futile attempt at rescuing her.

“No!” The heavy pants from the runaway reached him. “Mother!”

It was spoken under her native tongue, but he still knew its meaning, the term evident to his eyes. The weight of the word shook him like a quake.

The intruder fell to her knees and pushed Finan away harshly, forcing him to relinquish his hold onto Katla.

The young woman held her mother in her arms, softly calling for her, soothing her as tears fell.

Katla smiled - it was warm and loving; it was a smile he had not seen for a very long time. She then softly muttered her daughter’s name under her breath. ‘Rúna’.

Finan was quiet, trying to approach them but the young one quickly grabbed her knife, holding it against him with the look of death in her eyes, coal painted around them. “You’ve done enough. Stay away.”

He surrendered, hands mid-air.

Rúna turned back, finding her mother’s sword next to her. She picked it up and gently wrapped the woman’s hands around the handle, making sure she was tightly grasping it.

He was paralyzed, studying both women until he could only look at the newcomer.

His gut screamed at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

He knew she was his - it was the way she looked that had given it away; she held a ghostly resemblance to his own mother. She had Katla’s eyes but yet looked like his own. It was in the nose, in the way she furrowed her brows, the texture of her hair, though the colour was his own, that made it look like he was staring at the shadow of his late mother.

Her soft sobs pierced through his thoughts. His daughter was leaning over her mother’s body unable to hold onto her tears any longer.

Katla had quietly gone, finally caving under the song of the Valkyries, forgetting the man who’s heart she broke, for the sight of her own child.

“May your journey be safe and swift... And may you find glory in the feast hall of Valhalla.” Rúna whispered under her breath, caressing her mother’s cheek, closing her eyes gently with her fingers.

Defeated, he stayed quiet and watched, silently letting his own tears fall.

The scent of smoke filled the air, the flames of death burning bright against the darkening sky.

Rúna stood in front of her mother’s funeral pyre, watching the flames burn her body.

Finan approached her carefully and stood next to her, his head straight and watching the fire as well.

She glanced towards him. “We thought you were dead…” She had spoken softly, a bitter aftertaste decorating the back of her throat. “You were taken to that ship-” She stood taller, looking away from him and back in front of her. “You are dead. You’re nothing to me.” She whispered her words under her breath, a mantra she tied around her heart.

His own broke, the pieces unknowingly desperate for salvation.

“Come back with me.” It was gentle, the tone of his voice carried to her ears in a cautious manner. “You don’t have to be alone.” Her shoulders tensed, her teeth stacked tightly within her jaw. “Come home with me.”

She snapped her head towards him, letting the embers of the fire caress her cheek as the pieces floated with the small wind. “Home?” She scoffed in disbelief. “You took that away from me, and now you expect me to forgive you and come back to wherever it is, with a stranger?” She held his gaze, her irises darkening the longer she stared at him. “You are nothing to me. I do not want you. I do not have the heart for you.” Her words hit him like boulders falling from a cliff.

He should’ve expected this.

“You will always be known as the man who killed my mother, so don’t expect anything from me.” She leaned in slightly closer towards him, her words just as menacing as the glare drenching the colour of her eyes. “Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”

He tried to push passed the remark, but the gaze was enough to make him stop. She meant her words - she could kill him right on the spot.

She had no love for him, nor for the ghost of him, nor for the part of her that was him.

She had no heart to give him as it had died with her mother, the entity burning along her body in front of them.

All over again, he could only mourn now, never thinking his past would have crossed the ocean to haunt him, let alone come to him in the form of a resentful daughter.

Rúna bid her final farewell, holding onto her mother’s pendant as she placed it around her neck, in unison with her own, before reluctantly walking away, the sun setting just behind them.

She turned her back on her father without even a word of goodbye, leaving the Irishman now to stare at the pyre burnt to a crisp.

He was left with the ashes and embers of his lost love as they hung around him, following the breeze that shifted across the field, the creatures dissipating into patterns that held no true meaning - simply dancing alongside Mother Nature’s breath.

She had broken his heart, the young maiden who had stolen it by the simple look in her eyes.

He should’ve known they were held by malevolence, by trickery.

She never loved him and he should’ve known this, but he was a foolish young man, stuck in a prison with a crown on his head.

She had given him freedom - the illusion of it, a tainted love, and he fell for it, like Adam to the apple.

He fell to his knees, the fire almost out as he succumbed to his grief, cheeks stained of tears and anger fueled in his fists as they rested on his lap, tackling the fabric of his pants.

His head fell back, looking up to the sky, the discoloration inviting night into its warm embrace.

Flashes of his past took over, pain striking him like lightening breaking into the skies, like a violent lashing strapping him into torment.

He wanted to convince himself, with every fiber of his being, that she could have loved him; he could almost imagine it. The softness of her being, so enthralling, engaging, mesmerizing. Like a siren calling for her sailor.

Had she not worked against him, tricking him, spied on him, she would’ve loved him the way he did for her.

If she had a heart, any smudge or speck of it at all, she could've loved him.

He was fooling himself, desperate to grasp onto strands of a lie to ease the pain of her perfidy that embedded itself deep into the marrow of his soul.

If she had a heart, she could have loved him, he kept thinking.

But even in death, she had no love for him - only depravity marinated her bones, her core yearning for simple primal desire.

The wondering haunted him, a shadow stuck at his feet, a lonely companion.

“Finan?” He turned at the sound of his name, the young monk calling from a few feet away with his gentle voice. “It’s time to go.”

Without a word, he looked back to the pyre, the fire now almost gone.

He wiped his tears and stood to his feet with great weight on his shoulders.

He gave one last look to the lost woman and eventually found strength to walk away, turning his back to his past once again.

God knows if he would ever see his daughter again.

-----------------------

xoxo

#the last kingdom #finan #finan x oc #tlk fanfic #finan imagine #finan the agile #the last kingdom fanfic #finan fic #mywriting #mark rowley #finan fanfic #tlk

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scorpionrising · 2 months

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there is love that doesn't have a place to rest — ch. 3

pairing: finan x fem!oc word count: 3556 content warning: this fic deals explicitly with the trauma of sexual assault. while there are no drawn out, graphic scenes, it is made explicitly clear what is going on. for context: oc is uhtred's daughter and was captive in dunholm for all her childhood. proceed with caution. additionally, expect canon typical attitudes, behaviors, violence, etc.

read on ao3

“i wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery and i can wish that all i want, but it won't bring us together plus, i know whatever happens to me, i know it's for the better" –phoebe bridgers, waiting room

A week had passed since her father left at the behest of King Alfred, and Ravna spent each day with Osferth in the woods, allowing him to teach her all about the Christian religion. She was not sure she believed any of it— a pregnant virgin was just a bit too absurd for her— but they made for good stories. She thought of the Romans, and the Greeks before them. How many different gods had they believed in? How many gods before them had been worshiped? For this reason alone, Ravna could not count anything out. Or could she believe in anything at all?

“Monk! I had a thought,” Ravna said, finding Osferth in the alehouse.

He was sitting with Finan, but she chose to ignore the other man. Osferth’s brows shot up upon seeing her. She did not make a habit of entering the alehouse, often finding it too loud and the men too abrasive. Osferth put down his mug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You say your god is good, yes?”

“Uh, yes. He is all good, just as He is all powerful.”

“If He is both, then how can He allow evil to exist?”

This was what Ravna did not understand. She had long since accepted that her father’s gods, if they did exist, cared little for her. Her father’s gods never claimed to be all good. But Osferth’s god did. Osferth’s god positioned himself as a father who loved his children. If she was this all-good and all-powerful god’s child, she could not fathom why he allowed for her to be abused as she was.

“He did not create evil,” Osferth said.

She scrunched her face at him. “But you said evil and sin comes from Eve eating the apple because Satan told her to, and Satan was created by God, was he not?”

“But God also created free will. He does not control us, Ravna.”

“If God created free will and bestowed it upon people with the option and opportunity for evil, then He created evil!”

A few eyes were looking their way, certainly whispering about her outburst. Finan glanced around the alehouse and leaned across the table.

“Hey, just take a breath now, ceann bheag.”

She rounded on him, eyes narrowed. What gave him the right to tell her to do anything?

“I believe I was talking to Osferth, not you,” she hissed, relishing in the fact that he actually leaned back in shock from her ire being turned on him. Sniffing, she looked back at Osferth. “I do not find myself satisfied with your response. Think on it some more and find me in the morning with better answers.”

Osferth cracked a smile, despite the uncomfortable tension between her and Finan.

“Are you hoping to convert, Lady?” Osferth asked teasingly.

“Maybe if I find you convincing enough,” Ravna responded in the same tone. She stuck her tongue out briefly and smacked the tabletop. “Right, then. I’m getting myself a drink.”

Both men looked shocked, which she took some pride in. Still, it was rather annoying. But, if it took her sitting in the alehouse for hours on end and drinking until her vision blurred for them to see her as the grown woman she was, she would do it. She would show her father and Finan both. She had no need for a nursemaid.

Coin purse in hand, she sidled up to the counter and held her chin high. Men were crowded all around her, but she refused to waver. She had something to prove.

“Lady Ravna.”

Ceolmund, the second son to the alehouse and tavern owners, stood behind the counter. His older brother, Alewulf, was somewhat of a warrior and had gone north with her father.

“Hello,” she said. “I would… like a pitcher of ale, please.”

Ceolmund’s smile was a bit crooked. “You drink with your father’s men, lady?”

She pursed her lips. “And what of it?”

“I am surprised,” he said.

Then, he looked around and leaned in, beckoning her closer. Confused, Ravna complied. Ceolmund’s lips brushed along her ear and she bit back a gasp in surprise.

“Tonight is the full moon, Lady. When the moon is at its peak, come to the mouth of the river so you need not drink with your father’s men.”

She pulled back and arched an eyebrow. “What happens tonight?”

He grinned ear to freckly ear. It would be a bitter lie to say she was not intrigued.

“Us young people get to live,” he said.

“Very well,” Ravna said. “I will join you.”

“Good!” He smacked the counter for good measure. “I’ll go get your ale now, Lady.”

When she returned, she must have been grinning as well. Osferth’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead and he turned to Finan, who was staring at Ravna with his mouth agape.

“What?” she asked.

“What did he say to you?” Osferth asked.

“Nothing,” Ravna said simply, pouring herself a mug of ale.

“No, he said something!”

She rolled her eyes. “Osferth, I am allowed to have friends other than you, no?”

He deflated a bit and took a deep sip from his mug. Smirking to herself, Ravna poured some ale from her pitcher into his now empty cup. With a grin, he knocked his mug against hers and they took large gulps in tandem. Finan looked decidedly put out. Good, she thought, not feeling guilty in the least.

The ale was strong, but she knew it would be. Her father encouraged Ceolmund’s father to brew it the way Danes did, as Saxon ale was often so weak. Ravna’s head was spinning a bit, but she found she did not mind it. She quite liked the feeling, actually. With Osferth’s aid, she drank the entire contents of the pitcher rather quickly. Delighting in the way the whole world around her seemed to tilt as she stood up, Ravna placed her palms on the table to steady herself as she giggled shrilly.

“I… am going to…” She trailed off, losing the thought. “Oh! Yes, I will get more ale.”

Finan grabbed the now empty pitcher and pulled it out of her reach. “Perhaps not, Lady.”

Annoyed but less angry than before— thanks to the ale, in all likelihood— Ravna turned on Finan. Feeling her lips curling into a grin, she snorted and lunged for the pitcher, but he was too quick for her and pulled it further away.

“Finan,” she said shortly, rolling her eyes, “I am grown. I am no child, and you are no nursemaid.”

He reared back as though she had struck him, and it granted her the opportunity to steal back the pitcher. Clutching it to her chest, she swiveled around to go back to the counter, but Ceolmund was already a few paces away.

“Lady Ravna,” he greeted, walking to meet her where she stood. “I’m off now. Would you like me to accompany you on your way?”

Blood rushed to her face, pooling in her cheeks. A bit carelessly, she tossed the pitcher aside and nodded.

“That would do,” she said.

He grinned quite charmingly and offered her his arm.

“Oi!” Finan interrupted. “What’s this about?”

“Ceolmund is accompanying me on my way so I do not need to walk alone in the dark,” Ravna said, cocking her head to the side. “Do you find that unacceptable, Finan?”

Osferth was hiding a grin behind his hands and very pointedly looking away from Finan. Finan, however, seemed downright perplexed and his face was turning a bit red; dark eyes obscured by the scrunch of his eyebrows. When he did not respond, Ravna turned back to Ceolmund, victorious, and took his arm.

“So, will you tell me now what it is that you’re bringing me to?”

“Revelry,” Ceolmund said simply.

And revelry indeed it was. With a large fire going and bodies milling about, Ravna thought back to the many festivities held over the years at Dunholm in honor of the gods. While these were Christians around her, they were not so different.

“We drink mead instead of ale here,” Ceolmund said. “Beatrice makes it with the honey from her father’s bees.”

Ravna nodded, amazed by the sight before her. In her years of living in Coccham, how had she been so vastly unaware of this happening every month? Since she mostly kept to herself, there were a great many people she realized she did not know as unfamiliar faces swam past her. Even Beatrice, who Ceolmund was still talking about, Ravna did not know. She felt bad for it, as clearly everyone knew who she was.

“Lady Ravna!”

Sybil, the blacksmith’s daughter, ran over with a wild grin on her face, a crown of flowers askew on her head. Of the people in the village, Sybil was perhaps one of the only people outside of Ravna’s family that she would consider a friend. Even then, she was unsure.

“Sybil, I’ve said many times, you need not call me Lady,” Ravna said. She glanced at Ceolmund and bowed her head. “Nor do you, friend.”

Sybil reached out and grabbed both of Ravna’s hands. “Well, Ravna, you must come join me for a dance!”

Ravna did not even have the chance to respond before Sybil pulled her away from Ceolmund. Though there was no music, aside from three men who were hardly more than boys drunkenly singing, those who were dancing around the large bonfire seemed to have a tune in their minds. Giggling, Ravna twirled around Sybil as the two of them created their own tune.

“I’m quite pleased you’re here!” Sybil said, swiping a mug from a young man’s hand and taking a deep sip. “You must join us more often.”

She offered out the mug and Ravna took it. The mead was delightful, far superior to any ale she ever had. It tasted of honey and fruit and spices; it tasted of the gods.

“I would like that,” Ravna said, now used to the buzzing feeling the drink gave her. “It might be hard once my father returns.”

“It is the same for the rest of us,” Sybil said. “Many of our fathers joined yours, and we do this with our freedom!”

Sybil flung her arms out and spun around freely. It amazed Ravna. The looseness, the recklessness, the carelessness. It was all she ever wanted to be. She drank until she was stumbling over her own feet, but Ravna was unsure if she could say she ever had such fun.

Ceolmund found her some time later, just as drunk as she was.

“Lady!” he said, all too loudly. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

On the very far depths of the horizon, Ravna could see the beginnings of sunrise, lightening the dark sky above.

“Perhaps you could walk me back to town,” she said.

“Of course, Lady.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ceolmund, please, I wish for you to only call me Ravna.”

They walked hand-in-hand, tripping over one another, their own feet, and tree roots alike. The village center was deserted entirely by the time they finally found their way back. For some reason unknown to her, Ravna was giggling loudly and constantly. Ceolmund did not seem to mind, however, and instead grinned at her with that crooked smile of his. She stopped to stare at him, and perhaps count the freckles on his face. There were a great many, and she was fascinated by them.

“Ravna,” he whispered, “may I kiss you?”

It was perhaps because no one had ever asked her that question before that she did say yes. Ceolmund was not the most experienced or skilled of kissers, but him asking her permission made it the best kiss of her life. She curled a hand around the back of his neck and clutched him close, letting her bodily knowledge take over.

They stumbled back against a tree, his hands roaming all over her body and lips trailing down her neck. This, she thought, was what being young was for. She clutched his curls in hand while his fingers fumbled for the strings on her breeches. She giggled some more, but this time it came out as half a moan.

“Ceolmund,” she whispered, tugging at the root of his hair. “We’re too exposed.”

The mere fact that he paused and pulled away from her to look around almost made her want to drop to her knees and push all fears of being caught aside. But to do so, would be to act like a child. She wanted to be treated like the woman she was, so even in her drunken haze she knew she could not. Not right now, at least.

“Yes.” He sighed, chest heaving. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Anyone could stumble upon us,” she reasoned.

But, then, she kissed him again. She kissed him over and over and over again until the sky turned orange with sunrise. Drunkenness abating and replacing itself with a throbbing head, Ravna began to pull her hands from Ceolmund’s hair.

“I should return home,” she mumbled against his lips.

“That would be for the best,” he agreed, still kissing her.

She dragged her teeth along his bottom lip and forced herself away. She did not look back at him as she walked home. If she did, it was likely her self restraint would fall apart, and she really needed to be home before Gisela awoke to tend to Stiorra, who always rose with the sun.

Another week passed, and Ceolmund, who was not so interesting or smart as he seemed that night of the full moon, proved himself to be a kind young man who was undoubtedly fond of her and never tried to touch her more than she liked him to. (It was the kindest a man had ever treated her, so it surely meant something.) Unable to deny the fact that she liked it when he kissed her, even when she was not mind numbingly intoxicated, she found herself sneaking around to press her lips to his at any given opportunity— which naturally led to her pressed up against the back of the alehouse with his hands creeping up underneath her tunic. And that was when and how Finan found them.

“Oi!”

The brogue was undeniable, forcing them to separate at the sound of his voice alone. Lips wet and swollen, Ravna cursed quietly. Ceolmund looked as though he were about to shit his breeches.

“What do ya’ think yer doing?” Finan barked, marching over to them and grabbing Ceolmund by the collar of his tunic.

“Nothing,” Ceolmund said loudly. “We were doing nothing!”

“That’s your lord’s daughter, boy,” Finan said.

“Y-yes, I— I know.”

Ravna groaned. She was well aware of her father’s orders to Finan to keep her safe and make sure she was well, but this was absurd.

“Finan,” she said, wrenching his hand away from Ceolmund, “let him go!”

When his fingers released the fabric, Ceolmund stumbled backwards and then began to run. She rolled her eyes and rounded on Finan.

“What is wrong with you?” she screamed, flinging her hands into the air. “He was doing nothing wrong!”

“Oh, he was doing plenty wrong, lady,” Finan said.

“How is what he was doing any different from what you do to the women in the tavern?”

He stared at her in shock, but she was not finished.

“And how is what I was doing any different from what those women do to you? I am a woman, Finan, not a girl! I know very well what that was. I am not stupid, nor am I the naive child everyone believes me to be!”

Seething, she stomped in the opposite direction Ceolmund ran. She needed to be far away from everyone, Finan especially. How dare he embarrass her like that? Who did he think he was? Her hands shook in her anger, vision blurring at the edges. She was unsure whether she wanted to scream or sob more, so she would go into the woods and do both. She would beat her knuckles bloody on the tree bark if she desired.

Her fury remained. She stood at the riverside, throwing rocks as far as she could to force it to leave her. A twig snapped behind her and then there was the telltale rustle of leaves. She gritted her teeth and let out a groaning shout as she threw another rock. She would not acknowledge him. She refused. He would have to come to her and force himself into her line of sight.

“I apologize, ceann bheag. I should not have grabbed the boy like that.”

How she hated that nickname now. Less than a month ago, she found it sweet. Little one. Now, she knew what it meant. She was a small child, and always would be. Tears of anger and resentment flooded her eyes, stinging in the wind as she tried to hold them back. She sniffed and sat down on the embankment, knees pulled to her chest. She closed her eyes as she heard Finan move closer and sit down beside her.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since your father left, ya’ know,” Finan said.

Ravna pursed her lips.

“And I don’ know why,” he continued. “Seems like ya’ will talk to anyone an’ everyone but me.”

Anger getting the best of her, she snapped, “I heard you, you idiot!”

Her cheeks were wet, the tears finally having spilled out. A deep crease appeared between Finan’s eyebrows.

“The day before my father left, I heard what you said to him,” Ravna elaborated. “And you were right, Finan. I do not take kindly to it.” She swiped at her face and sniffled loudly. “I do apologize for being such a burden when I was foolish enough to believe we were friends.”

He swore in a low voice, more a grumble than words, and ran a hand over his beard. She watched him from the corner of her eye, wanting to turn to him but wanting to be steadfast more.

“Ravna,” he said quietly, softly. “Ya’ never should’ve heard that.”

“And yet,” she muttered, a bitter and sour taste in her mouth.

“I do not think ya’ to be a burden.” His voice was gentle and slow, as though he were trying to find his footing.

“What do you think of me, then?” she asked, finally turning to look at him fully with blazing eyes. “Because I do not think you see a woman.”

“Well, I don’ see a man!”

She rolled her eyes, curbing the urge to kick him.

“You know quite well that is not what I meant!”

She shot up and moved to stomp away, but got up just as fast and grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away. His hand had a tight grip on her, just above the crook of her elbow.

“What ya’ need to understand is, on the ship all your father talked about was his little girl who had been taken from him.”

She was not proud of the manner in which she gasped— both at his touch and the subject of the slave ship being raised. Neither he nor her father ever spoke of their time enslaved, and she could not blame them. How often did she discuss her time at Dunholm, after all?

“And that’s what ya’ were when I met ya’!”

“But I am no longer a child!” she exclaimed.

“No,” he agreed solemnly. “Yer a woman, to be sure, and ya’ have been since the time ya’ stepped foot in Coccham.”

“Then why do you all continue to treat me as one?” She glared up at him, furious. “You likened yourself to a nursemaid and begged my father to change his mind. If you are so unhappy here, I grant you leave to join my father. Go! If you wish it, go, and I will hold no anger in my heart.”

“Lady,” he said, “I would not do that.”

“Why? Because my father asked you to?”

“Because I care about ya’!”

She watched as his eyes crinkled at the corners and his hand not holding her arm lifted, perhaps of its own accord judging by the shock in his eyes, to take hold of her face. The calluses on his palms, made from years of training with swords and pulling oars, were rough against her cheek, but she was too preoccupied by her surprise at the sudden touch to care.

“You’re not just Uhtred’s daughter. You’re far more than that.”

His hand slipped past her cheek to cradle the back of her head, and then he pulled her into a tight hug. Sniffling once more, she tucked her face into his chest and slipped her arms around his torso. After a moment, she pulled her arms away and took a large step backwards with a burning face. She really ought not to have allowed herself to step so close. It was inappropriate.

“I am glad you see me as I am,” she said quietly.

Above their heads, a cloud shifted and sent a bright beam of light directly upon Finan’s head. It illuminated him in a brilliant shade of gold, and she needed to look away from how bright he was, lest she do or say something absurd.

#finan x oc #finan fanfic #finan x reader #finan the agile #the last kingdom #tlk fandom #osferth #sihtric kjartansson #uhtred of bebbanburg #finan tlk #tlk fanfic #finan #tlk uhtred #tlk season 3 #mark rowley #the last kingdom fic #osferth x reader

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persephones-journey · 2 months

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Rings of Lust and Gold

@itbmojojoejo this is your fault. You know what you did...

It was risky.

Especially if they got caught.

But Aisling found she didn’t care.

She moaned into Finan’s mouth as his fingers brushed up her thigh under her dress. He pressed her more into the dark corner of the church. It was early morning, much too early for mass but one never knew when Alfred would feel the need to worship.

“My dream,” Finan whispered into her mouth as his fingers brushed her folds. “Ya cannot be too loud.”

She whimpered and nodded. She gripped his tunic tight as she felt him slide his index finger into her. She felt the cold metal of his ring as he pressed against her most sensitive skin. She breathed in as it also slipped inside of her. She gasped as Finan pressed his finger further in, his ring rubbing against her walls.

“Shh,” he whispered as he bit her bottom lip.

She pressed her leg more against his hip pulling him closer. His lips covered her mouth again as he slowly pressed another finger into her. She whimpered as she felt his ring press harder into her wall. His thumb gently rubbed her clit, slowly as his fingers stroked her and pressed into her.

“Finan,” she sighed as she could feel the fire of pleasure fill her. She raked her nails in his beard as she felt his warm body press her more into the corner. The cold stone of the wall pressed against her back, but it did nothing to cool the fire that Finan and her were creating.

“So wet and warm,” he whispered as his lips brushed hers. “And mine.”

Aisling’s breath caught in her throat as she felt Finan slide another finger into her. She felt another one of his cold rings press into her. She felt his other hand grab her other leg and lift it up, wrapping it around his waist. There too she felt the cold metal of a ring press into her soft skin.

It burned as the fire built in her stomach.

She held him tighter to her moaning into his mouth, hoping that helped dull the sound as he gave her pleasure.

She began to like the feeling of the cold metal of his rings pressing into her insides, making her feel more full as he moved his fingers inside of her. She clenched around his fingers, whimpered as his rings pressed harder into her.

Yes, they would definitely need to do this again.

Maybe with more rings on Finan’s fingers…

#the last kingdom #finan #the last kingdom fic #finan fic #finan x oc #Finan X Aisling

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idksmtms · 3 months

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Finan Masterlist

Series

Under construction...

Oneshots

No, No, and... Maybe - (Finan x Uhtred's Daughter!reader - coming soon)

Finan was completely devoted to his Lord Uhtred, which meant a complete devotion to his Lord's family. Sure, he hadn't seen you since you were a babe, but he didn't expect anything to change when he arrived to defend Aelfwynn and the monastery. He didn't expect to find an absolutely beautiful, absolutely perfect woman... An absolutely off-limits woman...

Novice in Love - (Finan x Novice!reader - coming soon)

Once the Lady Aelswith began to care for Aethelstan, a young novice was appointed to look after him. When Sihtric and Finan arrive to the monastery, they find all the children taken care of by this young woman. She journeys with them to reunite Aelfwynn and Aethelflaed, and through all this, manages to fall in love with the charming Irishman.

AUs

Coming soon..

#finan the agile #the last kingdom #finan tlk #mark rowley #tlk season 2 #finan the last kingdom #finan x oc #finan fanfic #finan x reader #finan x you #tlk #tlk fandom #finan #seven kings must die

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emilyhufflepufftlk · 3 months

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My hand was the one you reached for | Finan x OC

Chapter 16: we will never go back

A miracle has occurred and I have actually written something!!

Read on AO3

@lauwrite1225 @persephones-journey @solinarimoon @morosemagick @blah-blah-blah-bla @cibs @anotherwinchesterfangirl @medievalfangirl @93xdiagonxalley @gemini-mama @magravenwrites @trenko-heart

#my hand was the one you reached for #the last kingdom #finan #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #read on ao3 #finan fanfic #finan x oc

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thethyri · 8 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐲𝐧𝐧❟ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞❟ ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Wulfwynn wouldn't have believed it if someone had told her that her greatest loss would bring her her greatest joy.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 *𖧧₊‧ It has been days and days. But Wulfwynn kept fleeing and hiding. Until she stumbled upon her saviours, in depths of the woods.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Show Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Show Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Show Rewrite, Show Dialogues, Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Wounds, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Battles And Post-Battles, Blood On Several Occasions, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Mild-Sexual Content, Multiple Graphic Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Non-Graphic Smuts, Protective Finan, Possessive Finan, Finan Needs A Hug, Finan Backstory, Protective Sihtric, Jealous Sihtric, Adorable Sihtric, Sihtric Backstory, Protective Uhtred, Uhtred Is A Little Shit, Soft Osferth, Adorable Osferth, Osferth Backstory, Leofric Lives, Clapa Lives.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries.

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 *𖧧₊‧ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD ⨾ Uhtred is 34-37 yo ⨾ Finan is 37-40 yo ⨾ Sihtric is 24-27 yo ⨾ Clapa is 43-44 yo ⨾ Osferth is 29-32 yo ⨾ Wulfwynn is 18-21 yo.

THE VODKAS MENU. + THE SERIE MENU. + CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

Fear. Dread . It crept its way into the heart, maliciously, viciously, its hideous claws jagged, and hooked, burrowing in its throbbing flesh. It gnawed venomously into the guts, tangled into hundreds of hundreds of tightly knitted knots. It crawled malevolently into the lungs, its coarse scales scraping, and into the throat, its rugged tongue scratching. It soaked bitterly into the bones, into the marrow, cold, terribly cold.

Wulfwynn was devoured with fear. Wrecked with dread. She felt the ache in her limbs, the burn in her lungs. She felt the cold whipping at the crusted scratches that littered her knuckles, her palms, her knees and her muddy heels. She felt the soreness of the swelled bruises that dotted her thighs, her arms and her wrists, her neck and her ankles, and her cheeks. They scattered across her body, mingled with her freckled flesh, scarlet and maroon, melded with her delicate moles, purply and olive.

Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

Twiddled branches and tangled roots scrapped at her calves and knees as she delved into the depths of the woods. Breathy sobs escaped her chapped lips, while the cold that chilled her lungs licked at the salty tears that soaked her cheeks. The writhed birches swallowed the misty, gloomy skies, engulfed the pallid gleam that shimmered between their leaves. And they’d swallow Wulfwynn too. They'd swallow her whimpers, and they'd choke her with their branches, they’d throttle her with their roots—

Wulfwynn sobbed panickedly, as she whisked hurriedly between the pines and the bushes, her heart onto her tongue.

They’d scratch, and scrape, and rasp, and snarl and sneer and—

A strangled yelp choked in her throat as she stumbled onto a root. She swayed abruptly and fell. Whimpers and whines of throbbing anguish and nauseous panic swirled through the cinnamon and crimson leaves that twirled around Wulfwynn as she hurtled down the muddy hill. And she gasped breathlessly as she slammed into a thick trunk.

Wulfwynn clutched the bark, chafing her fingers, and wobbled, then rose quiveringly, but rose nonetheless, before her heel slipped in the mud and she tumbled again. She grunted as she fell, and fell, and fell, down the hill, down, down, until she landed into the dirt. Wulfwynn laid into the leaves and the dirt, perhaps an eternity, perhaps an instant, furled and shuddering, her heart throbbing into her temples and her knees and elbows aching.

But, though she struggled, arose onto her palms. Bitter tears fell from her reddened cheeks, from her chin, onto her scratched, scarred fingers and between her knuckles. And then, a shout resonated through the pines,

“Lord !”

Fear gripped at Wulfwynn’s heart with it crooked claws. She fumbled panickedly with her kirtles and skirts, shuffled and tumbled, and wobblily arose, but fell onto her knees with a frustrated whine. She huffed shakily.

“Lord !” Wulfwynn prayed. She prayed fervently, as the worried yell swivelled in the chilly whiff. “Are ye— Are ye alright?” She’d have chuckled, but Wulfwynn merely sobbed. “Ye’re— Uhtred !”

She peered hesitantly and her glance landed onto the cross that dangled before her teary eyes. A heavy huff tickled her cheek.

“Ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright,” He murmured quietly as he knelt. She felt his pity, his gentleness and his kindheartedness, and she sniffled. Her heart swelled. “Ye’ll be alright, I promise.”

Wulfwynn nodded meekly. His soft promise poured onto her sore scratches and scrapes, syrupy and smooth and warm. Her heart seared with a sour tincture of gratitude and lament, with a driblet of reassurance and a splatter of solace. Her glance anchored into umber orbs, tinged with warmth and kindness, and worry.

“Finan.” A whistle tickled Wulfwynn's guts. “ Finan !”

“Lord,” Finan startled, as he leapt onto his muddy boots. Wulfwynn shivered as the chill tickled at her neck. "She's hurt, Lord."

“Hurt?” The Lord —Uhtred, she assumed— inquired, with doubt and incertitude. And a tinge of scepticism. “Quite hurt.” Finan affirmed, and nodded.

A chiffchaff chirped. “Lord?” Queried a soft murmur. “She indeed seems quite unwell.”

The Lord’s glance landed unto the salty tears that streaked her cheeks, unto her bruises, and her scratches and scrapes, and she felt oddly, yet agreeably, absorbed into the frosty depths her eyes plunged into. His stare felt cold, but she embraced that cold. She felt queerly reassured, comforted, shrouded into that cold. The Lord hummed quietly. And nodded. Wulfwynn huffed a breath of relief.

Finan knelt beside her, his knees in the mud, and she felt his warmth caress her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Wulfwynn grabbed her tattered kirtles, and Finan muttered, “ Jesus .” as he glanced at her legs. She grasped his hand, hers frail and fragile in his callused palm. She grunted with anguish, as she struggled to arise, but her knees buckled.

Finan's hold tightened, "Gently, gently." he reassured her softly, "Osferth!" he beckoned with a whistle and a nod. Saddle buckles rattled, leaves rustled and an arm slithered across her back. “Apologies, Lady.” and Wulfwynn uttered a quavery huff.

“Gently.” Finan repeated as Wulfwynn arose slowly. “Alright. We’ll get ye onto Sihtric’s horse.”

Osferth nodded. He gently took ahold of her elbow, and they strode to the horses. They approached Sihtric’s horse, and Wulfwynn glanced at the silhouette sat astride its saddle, shrouded in furs, as Sihtric’s stare anchored into hers. She felt Finan’s warmth fade when he stepped back and unbuckled his cloak's buckle, before he wrapped the warm, woollen garment around Wulfwynn’s shuddery shoulders.

“It’ll keep ye warm.” Finan murmured as he tucked the hood on Wulfwynn's messy, tousled curls and tresses. “Ye’ll ride with Sihtric. Alright?”

She nodded. Finan approached the horse and leaned down. He cupped his callused hands, fingers knotted, and Wulfwynn grasped his arm as she hesitantly placed her heel in his palm. "Alright. I'll hoist ye there and Sihtric will get ye, huh?" Wulfwynn hummed and, quite facilely, Finan lifted her. She gracelessly threw her leg across the saddle and, as he told her, Sihtric grabbed her. “Ye’re good?”

“Good.” Wulfwynn muttered with a nod. Finan’s eyes widened at the hoarseness of her mutter but he nodded nonetheless.

He and Osferth hopped back onto their horses. Wulfwynn fidgeted a bit, and grabbed Sihtric's thick, woolly ebony mantle with her fingertips. But he felt it and turned, and gently grasped her wrist before he wrapped it across his chest.

Wulfwynn jolted when he softly spoke, “You may hold on.” And, although timidly, Wulfwynn slipped her arms around Sihtric’s waist. Her fingers gripped the crisscrossed leather of his cotte, and her fingertips stroked the fur that flanked its edges. The scents of cinders and smoke, of dust and caked mud and hay tickled her nostrils. Yet she felt oddly soothed as she faintly breathed into the heavy wool.

“We ride!” then hailed Uhtred.

Wulfwynn’s legs dangled from the horse’s rump, and swayed slightly with his sturdy strides. The muffled thud of hooves as they rustled dead leaves, the snorts of the horses, the chirps of the birds and the warmth of Sihtric's furs cradled Wulfwynn. And slowly, as she fell into slumber, her head lolled and bobbed, and then, settled between Sihtric's shoulders.

And Wulfwynn slept, as much as she hadn't slept in weeks.

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

The noisy hustle and bustle of Wintanceaster was quite pleasant. With the yells of its merchants, as they tempted the villagers with their trouts and lampreys, their hot loaves of oat breads, their goat cheeses, and their turnips and parsnips, and their pears. The bright, merry talks of the villagers. The jolly chuckles and giggles of the children.

Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

He particularly appreciated this noisiness, as it differed considerably from the howls and yells that engulfed the field. As well as the smells. The scents of mud sodden, thickened with blood, of tangy sweat and barf were, at Wintanceaster, the scents of roasted pork and latterly brewed barley ale that wafted from the taverns.

Yet, this bustle hadn't awakened the lass, whose scratched and scraped arms were wrapped across Sihtric's chest, and whose reddened, bruised cheek was squooshed against his back, although she was shrouded with Finan’s hood. But Sihtric wasn’t bothered in the least.

“We'll take her to mine." declared Finan, as they strided towards the stables.

A snort. "Really? Huh." Clapa chuckled wickedly. He glared at the Dane. "Well, we're not gonna get her to yers, are we?" Finan retorted.

“He’d frighten her.” Uhtred sniggered, as he glanced at the giant. Clapa smirked.

“Frighten her? I’m but meek, sweet and gentle as a lamb, Lord.” He protested, and Uhtred chuckled, “Huh-uh.”

They approached the stables and alighted from their steeds. Finan felt the soreness in his legs as he neared Sihtric’s horse. He nodded towards Clapa, “Can ye take her?” and the Dane contourned the horse. He held his arms towards the lass, and Sihtric gently peeled her hands from the crisscrosses of his cotte, before Clapa slithered an arm across her back, as she slipped into his arms, and then slithered a hand beneath her legs. “I’ve got her.”

"Alright." Finan nodded. The muddy strands of straw of the stables crumpled beneath the soles of Sihtric's boots, when he leaped from his horse.

The lass’ forehead was nestled in Clapa’s neck, and the hood had flopped back a tad from her head. Finan’s glance fell onto the maroon and olive bruises that dotted her cheeks and chin, the scarlet slit that carved in the slope of her nose and the split etched into her plump, chapped lip.

He then turned to Osferth, “We’ll need yer balms and herbs.”

“Aye.” he nodded and hurried to fetch the leather satchel on his saddle.

They then took her to Finan's. He didn't quite considered it— well, considered it what? A haven? His? His haven? Nah, his haven was Coccham. This was but a humble, wooden hut, scarcely adorned, with a bed padded with straw and wool, draped with a few woollen and linen pillows and blankets, and a few furs. A table, scattered with bowls, melted candles and a hutch of trinkets, stood in the corner, with three stools. Light linen sheers flanked the walls, near the bed, while a wooden chest sat beside it, and a bench stood in the corner, near the entrance.

Clapa settled the lass onto the bed, with greater gentleness than Finan had hoped, and, with care, Finan unbuckled the buckle of his coat and slipped the wool from the lass' frail, delicate silhouette, before Clapa laid her tousled head onto the pillows.

“‘Tis still as modest as it was the last I was here.” enthused Uhtred, as he entered the hut with Osferth and Sihtric.

Finan stared at the lass an instant, and then turned to Osferth. He startled and hurried to the table and, amongst the wooden bowls, grabbed the dusty pestle and mortar. He then brought the herbs onto the table from his satchel, and glanced at the sleeper before he took the yarrow.

They stared quietly at the monk, as he grabbed the pestle and mashed the dried yarrow into the mortar. He then grabbed a bowl and poured a quaff of his gourd, and sprinkled the dried plant. Osferth then took the bowl and told Finan, “It’ll soothe her body.”

Finan took the bowl and nodded. Softly, he knelt onto the bed's edge, and slowly tickled the beverage between the lass' chapped lips.

“Then?” Sihtric queried as he neared the table. Osferth took the bowl back. "Then," he mumbled, as he tossed plants in the wooden bowl, and took the pestle, "I'll tend to those scrapes and scratches with chamomile," he grimaced, as though he was scraped and scratched, "and soothe her bruises with nettle."

Sihtric glanced at the lass and the frown between her brows. And a tinge of concern tickled his chest. Osferth grinded the chamomile and the nettle in the bowl, and then poured a quaff, “She’ll heal.” he assured, as he approached the bed and settled on the edge.

“But she’ll need a while. She’s quite enfeebled.” he murmured softly, and placed the bowl onto the woollen blankets. “But she’ll heal.”

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

Wulfwynn felt cradled.

Shrouded in the softness of the wool of Cynefrith's sleeves across her hips, and swaddled in the warmth of Eadgyth's skirts and kirtles, her legs entangled with hers. She felt utterly well.

She hadn’t felt well in quite a while. But between Cynefrith and Eadgyth, she felt soothed.

Yet, Wulfwynn stirred in her slumber. She nestled her nose in Eadgyth's tangled and tousled tresses, and hummed with contentment when the scents of chamomile tickled her nostrils. She felt Cynefrith’s gentle breath tickle the back of her neck.

Wulfwynn sighed with delight. She laced her fingers with Cynefrith’s, and Eadgyth wrapped her arm around them, and cuddled them.

And an ache clutched at her chest.

Wulfwynn’s brows furrowed. She huddled and clutched Cynefrith's lithe fingers, and snuggled into Eadgyth's neck. But she gasped as her chest tightened.

And she sobbed. Whiffs of cinders and embers, of nettle and of dust swamped her nostrils and tickled her guts. She sobbed, and sobbed, as the ache clawed at her heart.

Sleep left her, slowly, so slowly it felt an eternity.

Her sight remained blurred a moment before she discerned the shutters, and the pale gleams of the morn that crept between them. Then she glanced beside her. But Eadgyth wasn't there. And when she turned and peered above her shoulder, Cynefrith wasn't there either. And then, she remembered.

The yells, the tears. The lake. The sobs, the pleas. The plains. The blood.

Cynefrith wasn’t there.

Eadgyth wasn’t there.

They weren’t here.

Wulfwynn whimpered. There was neither Eadgyth nor Cynefrith. There weren't their embraces, merely linen blankets and furs. There wasn't their warmth, just a woollen and straw mattress. They weren't there.

She sobbed, her hands clutched at her chest. She sobbed, her scraped and scratched knees beneath her chin. She sobbed, muffled into the blankets. She didn't hear the squeak of the wooden door and the creak of the boots onto the floorboards.

“Lass?”

Wulfwynn perked and winced. "Ye're awake, at last." Finan huffed, as the concern that etched his face melted into relief. Wulfwynn's tears trickled from her cheeks and wetted the blankets. Finan approached the bed.

“Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.” he reassured her. But Wulfwynn wasn’t alright.

Her lips quivered, “I,” she huffed quietly, feebly, “I fled, but I—” and faltered, “I fled,”

“Hey, hey,” Finan neared her, and she felt her heart thump, "I— I fled but I—" she sobbed, "But—" And Finan gently seated at the bed's edge, “Hey, ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright.” he repeated. “Ye’re fine,” he murmured softly.

Alright. She was alright. Wulfwynn nodded. Was she alright? She wasn’t quite. But she nodded nonetheless. Her sobs ebbed. She felt, as she had felt with Uhtred, oddly, yet agreeably, comforted and reassured when her eyes anchored into Finan’s. But she felt terribly feeble too. And sore.

“Ye shouldn't tire yerself too much. Ye're still weak and ye haven't eaten yet.” he uttered prudently, as though he feared he might frighten her. “Ye’ve slept quite a bit and Osferth has tended to yer,” he swallowed, “wounds.”

Wulfwynn glanced down at her hands, wrapped in thin strips of linen, folded around her thumbs and knotted in the crook of her palms. The whiffs of chamomile and nettle wafted to her nose when she wiggled her fingers. She noticed she was no longer garbed in her shredded skirts and kirtles, drenched with sweat, sullied with guts and smeared with mud and dust, but a linen shift that smelt of sage. Hence why she had felt so comfortable in her slumber. And she frowned. If she’d been changed, then had they—

“We haven’t.” Finan assured, halting her thoughts, as though he knew what she was wondering. “Osferth merely tended to the wounds on yer arms and legs. Yer virtue is untarnished. Lord Uhtred's sister and Abbess Hild tended to those he couldn't. And then changed ye.”

She nodded shyly. “W-Where,” she licked her lips, “Where are we?”

“Wintanceaster, Lady.”

He stood from the bed and went to the table, in the corner, where there were three stools and, scattered onto the table, dusty baubles and wooden plates, bowls and cups. “Have I,” she straightened slightly and grimaced, “H-Have slept long?”

He picked a goblet and grabbed the jug, near a plate in which there were the scraps of a meal. Wulfwynn then wondered if they had remained there while she slept. “About three days. Since we arrived.”

“Oh.” she murmured. Finan returned to the bed and handed her the goblet. She whispered her thanks, and wondered if he had heard her, but as he nodded, she thought he must have. She took a sip and felt the soreness of her throat.

Then her stomach rumbled.

Her cheeks dusted with embarrassment and she coughed. She hadn't eaten but a few berries in days, and hadn't eaten aught but stale bread in weeks. The mere sight of the scraps of a meal had her stomach growl.

"Ye must be famished." Finan frowned, as if concerned. He then nodded, as though approving a thought he'd just had. "Alright. I'll get Hild fer ye and we'll take ye to the tavern. I'll be quick."

He then turned on his heels and strode out of the hut.

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gifs rightfully belong to @dailytlk.

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lauwrite1225 · 3 months

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Naaah you're not dreaming. I published this damn chapter.

#the last kingdom #finan #finan the agile #finan x oc #broken crown

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magravenwrites · 1 year

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The Last Kingdom Masterlist:

Finan Masterlist

Sihtric Masterlist

#masterlist #the last kingdom #tlk #finan #finan the agile #finan x eadith #finan x oc #finan x reader #sihtric #sihtric kjartanson #sihtric x reader #sihtric x oc

98 notes · View notes

itbmojojoejo · 8 months

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𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟 ~

A Good Man | Finan x Ealdorman's Daughter!Reader. | NSFW. | 11 Parts | Complete.

River Of Sins | Finan x OFC x Osferth | NSFW.

𝕆𝕤𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕙 ~

Fall From Grace | Osferth x Novice!Reader | Angst. SFW | DRABBLE.

𝕊𝕚𝕙𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔 ~

Indelicate Tenderness | Sihtric x Ealdorman's Wife!Reader | NSFW.| Complete.

𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕕 ~

The Gold Obsidian Collection | Sigefrid x OFC | NSFW. DUBCON. | Complete.

𝕌𝕙𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕕 ~

Uhtred x Fem!Reader | Drabble | WC:640 | NSFW.

Crimes Of Passion | Finan x OFC & Sihtric x OFC | NSFW. Smut. | Part 10 | Complete.

Fractured Moonlight | Vamp!Finan x Vamp!OFC | Angst. NSFW. Smut. | Ongoing.

#masterlist #the last kingdom fanfic #finan x reader #osferth x reader #sihtric x reader #sigefrid x oc #sihtric x oc #finan x oc

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bhxrdy · 1 year

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unspoken words | finan

author's note: it's been a while, but after watching the last kingdom, had to jump on the wagon :) this one is a bit long - it was difficult to figure out where to trim it down, so hopefully it won't bore you. To whoever reads it, i hope you enjoy this little concoction. Lots of love & stay safe 💕

She was lost in the thick of it. Mud, sweat and blood were pouring left and right as she injured and maimed every body that reached her across the battlefield.

She was a good fighter, a warrior in her own right. Not only could her quiet demeanour send chills down a man’s spine, but her presence during battle were songs to write about.

She wore the name of a god - given to her - even though she was not part of their world. Saxons claimed she was the devil incarnate, while Danes thought her a witch, or worse, a malevolent spirit roaming the earth to haunt, hunt and kill them all.

To the sight of the strangers that crossed her path, they would scurry away while praying to their gods to protect them, to shield them from her evil presence. She couldn’t care. The soil she spent years marching on had no emotional ties to her body - well, almost.

She was far away from what she once used to know. Space and time had created a convoluted way of separating her from her old life.

And so, here she was. In a war zone, fighting for her life and for the lives of the men she grew accustomed to. She was fighting for their survival, to aid them in their endeavour.

He might have feared her when they met. The way her eyes first laid on him had sent shivers down to his bone - he had grasped onto his little crucifix, reciting a quiet prayer out of fright and distrust.

And then, with the time they shared together, with the moments they spent, she became something else entirely. Whenever he would catch himself looking at her, staring at her, intrigue came and made his initial feelings obsolete. She became a mystery he wanted to resolve, an enigmatic and mystical being overpowering his logical senses in exchange for timid devotion, and then, tumultuous desire.

She was made of steel, it was as clear as day. Her body carried her through bruises and sickness. She was a shield herself; her skin, her hair, her eyes, as well her weapons, protected her from the insanity she had been dragged into. Her knowledge of the human anatomy, of Mother Nature and her gifts, her combat skills, her agility and flexibility were a driving force.

Qualities that left his heart rendering to endless possibilities, good and bad.

The worse, the greater the grief; while in battle, he always knew where she stood. She was easy to find. There weren’t many women who could terrorize men twice their size. And yet, today, he had lost her in the crowd.

Anxious, panicked, he yelled for her name while swords were clashing against the enemy. While he still fought, his mind wandered to what could have happened. “Freya!”

Though his accent was strong and though his voice was loud, the grunts and yells from soldiers and warriors alike were louder, and louder. It was to such strength, ears could be beaten to deaf.

His heart raced not only from war, but from uncertainty and it drove him wild. Drumming away between his ears, he was scared. He was terrified. He was getting enraged. It couldn’t be that she had fallen, that the enemy had taken her, sweeping her life off this ground.

He kept calling for her, his voice trying to echo across the massacred field. It strained him - his anxiety creeping through as his world slowed down, almost to a halt. He could feel it in the back of his throat. His voice cracking as the worse played itself in front of him, blinding him from reality.

She was nowhere to be seen and nowhere to be heard.

She was down against the grass, her body bathing in mud and blood, the stench of dead bodies suffocating her.

She could always take men that were bigger than her - it was cocky to think that way, but she knew herself too well.

And it almost killed her.

In the middle of it all, she thought she had slain yet another opponent, cutting him frontward, backwards and then down to his legs, forcing him to fall. But instead of crashing to the ground, he was back up on his feet. She had already turned around, ready to fight the next big Dane, but unfortunately, she was pushed on her back.

The stranger grabbed her from her collar, holding her from behind and yanked her down, her back hitting the rough ground with brutal force. The gesture cut off her breath from her lungs. It left her disoriented for a moment until she saw his axe swinging her way.

She caught the weapon with the head of the blade resting between her hands, as they touched its shoulder. She could feel the edge pushing down on her face, the sharp end tickling her skin. With all her might, she tried to push it away - if the cost were her fingers, then so be it. She just had to get out.

The maniacal laugh he was emanating gave her the strength she needed to push him out. She used her legs to kick him off her; one to the knee, the other straight between his legs. By shock, he dropped the weapon and with its loosened grip, she was able to hold it steady and position it to her advantage.

It was still a tough fight.

Once she was able to get back on her feet, she got hit right in the face. She felt her nose take a hit as it cracked; blood was dripping down to her chin.

It was hearing his voice calling out for her that distracted her.

She could sense the desperation in the tone and it tore her apart.

She had to survive. She wanted to survive - for him. She whispered his name between her own lips, not able to gather the energy to call out for him.

She needed him, and the slow realization left her begging for his help with no way of speaking up.

The hit to the nose resonated to her head, adding to the pounding headache she was already carrying from falling on the ground.

She could barely make any sense of what was happening anymore. It was only when a sharp pain throbbed across her body that it woke her up.

Her opponent had caught her again. He nicked her neck with a dagger; a step closer and she would’ve been gone.

She punched him across the face, hoping to phase him enough that she could pick up her sword and ram it straight through him.

Once she did, he fell to his knees. She kicked him, forcing him out.

She moved on to the next and fought again, as weapons caught onto her. Big or small, her skin was taking streaks of wounds, leaving her vulnerable enough to join the dead.

She wasn’t giving up. She needed Finan.

Out of breath, she kept going, all in the hopes she would prevail and find him.

They couldn’t yet tell if this battle was coming to an end, but the dread of her possible death was driving him insane.

It left a taste in his mouth he never wanted.

Distraught, his emotions had taken over; his sanity was losing its grip to reality, his heart wrenching in his chest. His voice carried across the field the best he could. Like a prayer, her name fluttered through the wind, trying to find her and still hoping it wasn’t too late.

Finan was at a complete loss.

Where could she have gone? Maybe she backed out - or maybe she was down and dead, he thought.

Grunting for force, yelling for assurance, his body kept him busy. Sword in his hand, he fought left and right, front and back, slaying one Dane after the other. He needed victory against the enemy.

With faith stuck at his neck, he begged his God that the woman he cared for was alright. He begged, his whispers shadowed in the fight, that she was still alive and fighting just as he was.

It wasn’t their first battle together; they’ve fought side by side before and always made it through. But the gut feeling residing in him made room for his anxiety to cripple him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

She was sometimes impossible; infuriating even. She was stubborn and sometimes reckless. She was fearless, and yet gentle. She had a touch that could either melt a thousand men or bring them to their knees, begging for their lives.

There were more reasons to love her. He couldn’t depart from it; it was like she stuck to him, every part of her body and soul intertwining with him.

The words were never spoken, but they still stood by each other’s side - mute, but not blind. It was an invisible thread pulling and pushing but never breaking them apart.

“Freya!”

Piles of bodies were scoured across the open field, their blood tainting Mother Nature’s body.

The noise had quietened down; only the victors remained as they gathered the prisoners and tended to the wounded.

He was stumbling across the dead, searching through the fallen faces to find her.

It was a dreadful maze, an overwhelming route to nothing. And yet, he wasn’t giving up. How could he when she was still out there? How could he stop searching when the woman he loved seemed to have disappeared forever?

Frantic to his core, only his voice deafened the silence surrounding the world.

“Freya!”

His knees were about to cave in, guiding him downwards; his brother by his side, Sihtric held the man up with an arm around the danish warrior’s shoulders as he was carried away back to the main grounds. However, Finan forced himself still. His eyes were still looking, still wandering. “Where did she go?”

To his hushed tone, his inquiry came with no answers.

The silence hugged the air. Hopelessness was crawling up inside him, shaking his body.

Sihtric then spoke up. “Finan.” He placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder for attention. “Look.” He gestured to turn and watch the horizons.

Lifting his head, he saw her.

Finally.

Finally, she graced his view with her survival.

Her body was covered in scratches from head to toe as she silently made her way to him and the others. She remained speechless.

They had won, and she couldn’t bother dancing to victory as her heart wore her heavy, its weight dragging her towards the mudded grass.

He should’ve felt relieved - she was safe and out of harms way. But for some reason, his heart still broke at his sight; he was troubled, on the verge of anger, of frustration.

She could hear him call her name as he ran towards her.

She tried to speed up her steps but did not have the energy to pursue.

“Where have you been?! You made me believe you were dead!” He burst out without thought. He was completely exhausted, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I couldn’t find you! I-I was worried sick!” He didn’t even stop to take a breath, he kept going without holding back. “What the hell were ya thinking?!”

She was watching him, her eyes following the traces of his features as he expressed his worry and his anger, his voice tone increasing slowly.

She could tell he had gotten scared. It was the way he was staring at her that gave it away.

He was still rambling; she wasn’t paying attention to his words anymore when she dropped her weapons. She then took his hand and gently placed it on her chest, right where her heart stood, holding him in place.

She still did not speak, letting his voice carry both of them.

The realization slowly hit; her heart raced against the palm of his hand, he started to calm down.

He was catching his breath, his chest heaving up and down.

Tensions were still running high when comfort softly slipped in. She was standing in front of him, alive.

She bore bruises like the rest of them, and he couldn’t look away.

As his left arm still held her, his right hand wandered to her wounds. His fingers gently traced the small cut on her head, down to her broken nose and then to her neck. Only then, when his arm kept following the limbs of her body did she wince at the touch under her waist.

Her voice barely made a sound but Finan knew something was wrong; she had tightened her grip on his hand, her eyes closed as her body took in the pain that waved across her.

He looked down to notice the blood slowly slithering down her hip to her leg, then down to the mud.

She tried wearing a reassuring smile, something to ease his discomfort.

“Finan…”

It was muttered, delicate; hearing his name roll across her tongue, he could almost cry. He could feel the tears prickling the corner of his eyes, his browns gazing at her.

Freya took one step closer, wanting to feel his warmth - the sign he still lived - against her own body. To feel the spark bursting from his skin to hers; the thought of it accelerated her heart rate. Oh, did she love this man.

He wanted to kiss her. The sheer need of it, the wanting and desperation that crept out of him could turn a person blind.

And yet, he didn’t dare. It was too good to be true, right? The darkest part of him was playing mind tricks. It was mischievous, treacherous even.

But he could feel her breath against him. Her lips so close to his, one move and he could take her right there and then.

But again, nothing happened.

They stood still, like time itself.

The sun was peaking high up, lighting up the sky to its prettiest of blue and they did not move.

It was cold. Her skin shivered as their breaths crowded the space between them.

His eyes were still gawking at the wound on the right side of her waist - it couldn’t have been that bad since she was still on her two feet. A few inches deeper and she would’ve been cold in his arms.

She sensed his distress. His breathing was catching up to him, making him dizzy.

He tried to speak but the words were stuck in his throat this time.

His hand was still pressed against her chest when she reached for him; her hands carrying his head as she leaned towards him, their foreheads pressed against one another and bringing their bodies closer together. It was her way of telling him ‘I’m safe, I’m here’, of telling him she was spared.

She felt the tingle at the edge of her lips; he stood so close and yet he was so far away.

They stayed like this for a little while longer - the rest of the group let them be, not daring to interrupt the moment.

The sentiment they felt for each other, the unspoken words that draped their skins and wrapped them tightly against one another, held them strong.

The noise of the war was gone.

They were the only two people left in this place.

These unspoken words were dancing across their lingering touch, the ghostly tingle carrying them on into another day, until the next battle, and the one after that.

They were here, voiceless - closed up to the physical world around them.

But with Finan, with her, unspoken words were enough.

They always knew what they meant to each other and that was okay.

Looking into the future was a dangerous game, and so they let it be.

--------------

xoxo,

#the last kingdom #finan #tlk fanfic #finan x oc #finan x reader #mywriting #mark rowley #finan imagine #the last kingdom fanfic #finan the agile

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scorpionrising · 2 months

Text

there is love that doesn't have a place to rest — ch. 2

pairing: finan x fem!oc word count: 2709 content warning: this fic deals explicitly with the trauma of sexual assault. while there are no drawn out, graphic scenes, it is made explicitly clear what is going on. for context: oc is uhtred's daughter and was captive in dunholm for all her childhood. proceed with caution. additionally, expect canon typical attitudes, behaviors, violence, etc.

read on ao3

“and if i would've known how sharp the pieces were you'd crumbled into i might've let them lay" –big red machine ft. taylor swift, renegade

“Why are ya’ doin’ this, Lord?”

“You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Ravna knew she ought not to be eavesdropping. Her father would be quite cross if he found out, but her time at Dunholm taught her several things. The first being how to sneak around without being caught. She did not catch the beginning of her father’s conversation with Finan, but she could surmise enough what it was about.

“Finan.”

Father sounded pained, as if the words were being choked out of him. She dug her nails into the bark of the tree she was behind to keep from poking her head out. Surely then, they would see her.

“Lord, I belong at your side on the battlefield.”

“I trust above all others, but what’s more important is Ravna trusts you above all others.”

She bit her lip to refrain from letting out a gasp.

Finan sighed audibly. “She will not take kindly to ya’ leaving me here to spy on her.”

“You are not spying.”

“Oh, I’m not?”

“Just keep her safe, and make sure she eats.”

“Lord, is that not what Gisela is for? I’m a warrior, not a nursemaid.”

The metallic taste of blood bloomed on Ravna’s tongue. A nursemaid. The urge to storm out there and confront them both nearly overtook her. A nursemaid! She wanted to scream. The last four years, she had thought Finan to be her friend—a true friend. Just as Sihtric was; just as Osferth was. She had for so long thought them equals. Clearly, he did not feel the same and saw her as a mere child. Squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying in her rage, Ravna reached up to where her teeth had split her lip and rubbed the blood away.

“She will not talk to Gisela. She will not talk to me. She talks to no one as she does you.”

Had he been reporting her words back to her father all this time? Her stomach churned. How many of the abuses she suffered at Dunholm that she spoke only to Finan of to spare her father the heartache did he know about?

Perhaps she really was no more than a child, because she had been silly enough to think of him as an individual rather than her father’s man. Anger surged through her, a defense from the rushing wave of sadness pooling beneath her ribs.

“Surely Sihtric would be better suited for the job. They grew up together, and his wife just had a baby.”

“I need Sihtric to spy—”

“Lord, you have me acting a spy here!”

“Finan!” Father’s words came out in a venomous hiss. “You will remain here, and you will take care of Ravna.”

“Very well, Lord.”

“Osferth will stay as well. Invite Ravna to train with you both. It will serve her well. She ought to learn to protect herself.”

With her father’s tone a bit lighter at the end, the two men began to walk away. Once she could no longer hear their footsteps, Ravna let out the short sob she had been holding in and sank to the ground. Back pressed to the tree, she drew her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead down. She stayed like that for some time, switching ceaselessly between furious and horribly sad.

Still gnawing on her raw lip, Ravna hoisted herself up and marched straight for town. Nursemaid, she thought with a scoff. She was no child. She would prove both her father and Finan wrong. She did not need someone charged to look after her. She had survived on her own well enough at Dunholm.

She entered the hall in a storm of rage, kicking up dust and dirt behind her as she stomped up the stairs to their living quarters. She slammed doors behind her, kicked objects out of her way, flung her boots off and across the room. It was a good thing she was alone. If her father or Finan dared show their faces anytime soon, it was likely she would make an attempt at stabbing them.

“I’m a warrior, not a nursemaid,” she mocked in a horrible mimicry of Finan’s brogue. She blew a raspberry and entered her room. “Pathetic.”

She flopped facedown onto her bed and sprawled her arms out. She would remain here until someone came to find her, and they would need to drag her from the bed if they wished her to move.

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because soon flames were licking at her skin. They curled around her limbs like scorching hands, forcing her limbs apart and clawing at her throat. Smoke entered her lungs and her vision went hazy. She was burning.

She coughed desperately, praying it would be enough to keep the fumes from choking her. She coughed and screamed and thrashed until—THUNK!

She came to, no longer on her bed, but in a heap on the floor. She must have banged her head, because it was throbbing with a large lump forming on her forehead. Quietly cursing, Ravna rubbed her eyes and grabbed the bedpost to use as leverage to stand up. The world spun, all out of order for a moment.

“Sister?”

Feilan’s sweet voice drifted through the closed door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes once more and wrenched the door open. Her little brother’s eyes did not even reach her hips, but they were gleaming up at her as wide as can be.

“Mama sent me to come get you,” he said quietly. “Father is leaving.” His nose wrinkled and he looked around past her. “I heard you shout.”

“I merely fell from my bed,” she said, running a hand over the braid she had slept in. “I am well.”

His eyebrows crinkled together in concern that was perhaps too great for a six year old, but he stuck his bottom lip out and his hand as well. She forced a smile and took his hand, allowing him to lead the way down the stairs.

Everyone was gathered down in the hall; Sihtric and Sig and their baby, Osferth, Hild, Gisela with Stiorra in her arms and Father at her side, and Finan—the great traitorous bastard. Father grinned at her, as though he had not been plotting with Finan a few mere hours before to spy on her.

“And to think, I thought I’d be leaving without a goodbye from my eldest,” Uhtred said, raising his arms out as if to hug her.

Ravna permitted the hug, but cut it short. If he noticed her aversion, he hid it well. But then, a crease formed between his eyes.

“What is this on your head?”

He raised a hand to her face and she promptly swatted it away while ducking out of his reach.

“I fell,” she said.

“Are you well?” he asked suddenly, fretfully. “Perhaps you should sit down—”

“I am fine!” she snapped.

It was rare that Ravna ever thought to raise her voice. She did not like loud, sudden noises, and the shouts of men did little to make her feel at ease. She kept quiet for a great many reasons, but especially because she did not want to frighten others as she had been frightened. Father looked even more concerned now, which only served to infuriate her further. She was neither soft nor fragile, and she hated being treated as such.

She had been thirteen when her father pulled her from the dark cells below Dunholm, but she was no longer that shivering, bruised child. Yes, the nightmares still plagued her, but if they had not stopped in the last eight years, she just supposed she would have to live with them forever. Just as she had been doing. Shooting her father a vicious glare, Ravna stomped over to Sihtric to wish him goodbye.

“Do not get yourself killed,” she said sternly.

“He has already gotten this speech from me,” Sig said. “But we both know he won’t listen.”

“No, he’s too pigheaded,” Ravna agreed.

“I will not have you two conspiring against me while I am gone,” Sihtric said with a frown.

Ravna smirked and looked over Sig’s shoulder at their son. The boy’s eyes had not been open once any time she had gone to visit, and she wondered if he shared the same mismatched eyes as his father.

“I can hold Bjørn so you two can have a proper goodbye,” Ravna offered.

Sig grinned. “He got his proper goodbye this morning.”

“Sig!” Sihtric hissed. “The baby!”

“The baby is too young to understand words, husband,” Sig said, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “Here, Ravna, you can take him if you like. He’s getting heavy in my arms.”

Ever so carefully, Ravna reached out to take little Bjørn from Sig. With her oldest friend’s son in her arms, she could feel some of her anger sapping out of her. It was hard to be infuriated when holding something so sweet and small. She hummed quietly, bouncing the child in her arms as a tiny smile crept onto her lips.

Ravna held him until Sihtric and her father left the hall together, already locked in fierce conversation about the rogues they were sure to encounter. Heaving out a great sigh, Ravna handed Bjørn back to Sig and made her promise to reach out if she needed help. Gisela had even offered her a space in the hall, but Sig—ever the self-sufficient woman—declined quite gracefully. Very pointedly ignoring Finan, Ravna marched straight for Osferth.

“I’d like another lesson on your Holy Book.”

Osferth’s face split into a grin. “Of course, Lady.”

He held his arm out for her. Snorting, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and began to walk.

“You know you do not need to call me that.”

“Oi! You two!” Finan called after them. “Wait!”

Ravna rolled her eyes, which Osferth certainly noticed, giving the look of surprise that overtook his face. His surprise did not come as a shock, of course. How often did Ravna treat Finan with a sweet smile and wide eyes? Perhaps she really had been acting like a child this whole time; well, no more of that. She could be just as independent as Sig.

“Is everything alright?” Osferth muttered.

“Yes, of course,” Ravna said, smiling and batting her lashes.

The monk’s face darkened by a few shades and he briefly looked away from her. He cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with her until Finan reached them.

“Where ya’ off to?”

“Prayer,” Osferth said.

“Alone,” Ravna added sternly.

She did not think she could bear to be around Finan right now, not with the knowledge that he would be likely reporting all her comings and goings back to her father. Would he write it down so he would not forget a single action she took? Or would he commit it all to memory and just inform Uhtred of the exciting bits?

At her unusually cross tone, Finan and Osferth alike widened their eyes in shock. It was rare she ever got snippish, and even more rare for it to be directed towards Finan. She glowered, tightened her grip on Osferth’s arm, and began pulling the monk after her to walk away. If Finan thought he was being left here to act as a nursemaid, he could spend his time with the actual children.

She led Osferth through the woods to the spot she loved so much, and sat down in a huff. There was a small smile toying at his thin lips as he mirrored her position. They sat close, facing one another with their knees touching.

“So,” he began, “why are you angry with Finan?”

“I am not angry at Finan,” Ravna said defensively, scowling.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He grinned a bit teasingly. Then, his face organized itself into something a bit more somber. “Something is clearly bothering you, Lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” she said, half blushing.

“You’re an ealdorman’s daughter,” he said as though she needed to be reminded of it. “That makes you a lady.”

She rolled her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. The air was getting warmer each day, and soon she would be able to swim in the river without catching a chill. With summer came a sense of freedom she constantly longed for. It was a happier time, and Father’s eyes always had less worry in them when he looked at her.

“Ravna,” he whispered.

She snapped her eyes towards him. Just like her father, and Gisela, and Sihtric, and even Finan now, there was a look of deep concern clouding his blue eyes. She clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the rush of anger. He reached forward tentatively and placed his hand over hers atop her knee.

“What is troubling you?”

Was it pity in his eyes, or was it something else?

“Everyone thinks me a child,” she finally said after a long moment.

“Who is everyone?” Osferth asked. “Because I certainly do not see a child before me. I see a woman grown.”

“That is different,” she said. “We are… of an age, with one another.” She wrinkled her nose and looked down at his hand covering hers. “I speak of Father and Gisela, and Beocca and Thyra, and—”

She stopped herself before she could say the last name, but Osferth saw straight through her.

“And Finan?” he asked her.

She was not proud of how her face burned in response. Embarrassed at how obvious it was, she pulled away from Osferth and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“I always thought him to be my friend,” she said quietly, ashamed at how stupid she had been all these years. “I thought he saw me as I am, not merely his Lord’s daughter.”

She was not proud of the bitterness she heard creeping off her tongue as she spoke, but Osferth never judged.

“You should not let it bother you,” he said in that quiet, contemplative voice of his.

“But it does!” She exploded, falling backwards to lay across the large boulder. “What of when I have a family of my own? When I am a mother, will my father still have his men watching my every step to report back to him?”

“I think it’s hard for him,” Osferth said. “He lost you when you were still a child, and he thought you dead for eight years, and when he found you again, you lived in Winchester with your aunt until you reached majority.”

“And that is my fault?” Ravna asked, shooting up with blazing eyes. “He did not yet have Coccham and I could hardly galavant across the country with him!”

“I did not say that,” he said gently. “I mean to say, you left his life as a child and reentered it as a woman.”

“It has been years,” she hissed.

“But far less time than you spent away from him,” he said.

She hated how he was right. Letting out a loud groan, she slumped back down and stared up at the cloudy sky through the tree branches. The birds above were chirping some absurd song, louder even than the rushing of the water below them.

“Your father loves you, Ravna,” Osferth said, a heavy sigh falling from his lips curdling the words a bit. “Many cannot say the same.”

She thought briefly of Kjartan, and the bruises he would paint across Sihtric’s skin, but what was most prominent in her mind was King Alfred. His cruelty to Osferth was an understated one. Whelped onto a servant girl, tossed into a monastery without a second thought, and never acknowledged. It always brought an overwhelming sadness to her heart when she thought of it. She reached a hand out until her fingers found his, and she grabbed onto him.

“You are loved, Osferth,” she said. “Surely you know this.”

She turned her head to look at him. His head was bowed down, the hand she was not holding tracing the cracks in the boulder. He glanced back at her and smiled just a bit.

“Now, tell me about Eve and the apple again,” she commanded. “I do not understand it.”

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medievalfangirl · 11 months

Text

Chapter 36 on The Girl From The Future is up!!

This is probably the most important chapter I’ve written and I’m an absolutely wreck because I want so badly for it to be right.

I hope you all enjoy it and please do let me know your thoughts ♥️

Taglist (plus a few people who’ve messaged to ask when the chapter will be up)

@geekandbooknerd

@i-cordelia

@prettythingsworld

@joyofbebbanburg

@itzmegaaaaaaan

@nzfangirl

@misfitsandmuses

@jessieray98

@obtuse91

@thunderhawk727

@stupefyslytherin

@gco95

@jinxedgold

@blah-blah-blah-bla

@solinarimoon

@emilyhufflepufftlk

@morosemagick

@persephones-journey

@trenko-heart

@lauwrite1225

@naaladareia

@inforapound

@mrsalwayswrite

#the last kingdom #finan x oc #finan #the last kingdom fanfiction

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moonlight-rider25 · 11 months

Text

Saint among Sinners

Chapter 7, in the Eadiths lady series.

Word count: 3344

Warnings: Your guess is as good as mine

Read chapter 6 “Spill the beans’ leading up to this chapter...

Uhtred strokes your cheek where your tear has fallen. You grasp his hand and lean your cheek softly against his huge weather palm.

“Please?” You ask again.

He casts his gaze down to his hand wrapped around yours and chuckles quietly to himself. He leans in against you, pressing his forehead to yours and you breathe in his safe familiar scent. You caress his cheek tenderly and peer into his blue sparkling eyes glimmering back at you. He slowly turns his head away from you and peers down at his lap.

“First…I need to know...” He says quietly avoiding your look.

Your heart quakes in your chest, you try desperately to remain calm as the butterflies in your belly begin to bounce around. He looks up to you with a wide grin. Your eyes light up waiting to hear what he's to say.

“...How come you're so good at this, faking an ailment thing?” He asks, unable to keep his face even any longer.

You exhale heavily and laugh wholeheartedly at his remark.

“Believe me, twas not an easy task!” You giggle.

You sit vibrating with laughter for a moment. He looks from your eyes back to your hand in his, laughter still thick in both your throats.

Once you’ve finally settled, you squeeze his palm a bit and try to look him seriously in the eye.

“So?.. Do we have a deal, my Lord?” You ask him plainly, trying not to show too much eagerness on your face.

“…I suppose I could sacrifice…. a day or two?” He asks sarcastically.

You giggle loudly at his remark. Clasping your hand over your mouth so as to not draw attention to you.

“Three?!” He teases dramatically looking back to you.

His big hand comes down upon yours, grasping your hand now between his. He stokes tiny circles around your knuckles and smiles madly.

“Longer!?” He asks with a snicker. “Please tell me, how long, woman?!” he chuckles, leaning playfully against you.

He brings your hand up to his lips and plants a tender long kiss on your knuckles where he just rubbed tiny circles. You gaze up into his stunning glimmering eyes and smile.

“As long as it takes.” you tell him.

He watches you carefully, peering deeply into your eyes as you gaze back up at him. His hand cups your chin softly and he slowly begins closing the gap between the two of you. Your eyes flutter shut and you hold your breath feeling him inch closer.

“I don’t think we have that much time..” He utters softly against your lips.

Your tender moment is quickly disrupted as you hear Eadith approaching, yelling her excitement of finding the herbs for your tea. Yours and Uhtred's eyes grow wide and you squeeze his hand tightly.

“You better be as good at this, as I am…” You whisper against him before he stands quickly pacing away from you.

“Eadith!” You call out, remembering to grasp your belly again. “Over here!”

She rushes over happily, Finan struggling to keep up with her, plops down next to you beside the tree, where Uhtred had just been.

“I’ve got it!” she hums gleefully. “All we need now is a fire, some hot water, and your belly should be good as new!”

You smile politely at her, remembering to keep your belly clasped. She spins around in her spot towards Finan, who's still huffing out of breath, and Uhtred, who's trying to hide the devilish smile dancing on his face.

“Could you two, go gather some firewood?” She pleads kindly.

Uhtred clears the laughter from his throat and smacks Finan on the back before heading off in the opposite direction.

“Of course my lady” Finan huffs, reluctantly following after Uhtred.

You sit trying to hide your own grin watching Uhtred's bad performance and quickly wipe it away as Eadith turns her attention back to you.

“You know, Eadith…I think I’m fine now, really.” You tell her.

“Nonsense!” She assures you, “I’ve got everything you need right here!” She tells you calmly, sorting through the plants from her bag.

“No Eadith!” You tell her more eagerly.

She stops and looks confused at you.

“It was just…lady troubles. That's all.”

“Oh!” she replies. “Well, in that case…” she continues happily “..We mine as well have some tea!”

~~~~~

Gathered around the fire, the day begins to drift away and the men; besides Uhtred, are visibly growing anxious. You try your best to act accordingly and Eadith tends lovingly to you, none the wiser. The fire crackles loudly and a spark drops out in front of you on the ground, you instinctively snuff it out with your shoe.

Uhtred sips water from his tin cup and meets Sihtrics eye. He swallows the sip dramatically, nodding towards him.

Sihtric watches as you do, and stands to face Uhtred.

"Lord, I believe lady Y/N is fine to travel, now's time to get moving before nightfall." He tells him in a concerned tone.

"Eh..you know Sihtric.." Uhtred begins.

The others turn their attention to him, including yourself.

"...I was thinking we might as well just make camp here for the night…" Uhtred replies stoically, peering off into the distance facing away from the group. "...Perhaps we could indulge ourselves a bit on the ale we have at hand…"

In seconds the men's faces light up meeting one another's eye, with delight painted across their faces. Finan leaps over the campfire heading towards the bags loaded up with many bottles of ale.

"I thought you'd never ask, my Lord!" Finan cackles, holding bottles up in the air.

Osferth, Sihtric, and Eadith waste no time joining Finan in dishing out the ale. You peer around the group with a satisfied smile when your eyes lock with Uhtred.

He stares in your direction, making no mind of hiding it from the others. You stare back watching and hoping the happiness you feel at this moment is also being felt by him as well. At least more so than any regret he may have; not be early on his arrival back to Wessex this time.

Eadith hands you a cup of ale and your stare with Uhtred breaks. You smile back at her as she giggles happily.

"I wonder what's gotten into him?" She says before taking a sip, gesturing towards Uhtred.

"...Who knows?.." You reply, hiding your smirk as you bring your own cup to your lips; your eyes meeting back with Uhtred who's also being handed a full cup of ale.

~~~~~

The moon looms far overhead beyond the tree leaves while the fire roars before you. The group has and still is indulging themselves with the stolen ale Finan has been able to acquire from past towns. Regardless of how it became, you're glad to have another night under the stars with the group.

Osferth, opening up from the drinks, has made himself quite comfortable beside Eadith. His arm wrapped gently around her neck as he wavers a bit back and forth listening to her as she speaks. Finan and Sihtric shout out a laugh in unison, seemingly sharing some grand story with Uhtred calmly beside them. Uhtred sits watching you from across the fire, and as if he's able to read your thoughts; looks around the group assuming they're all too intoxicated to make much note of his moment towards you.

Ale in hand, he seats himself beside you and pours you both a fresh cup. Eadith let's out a hearty cackle from beside you; you meet Uhreds look before laughing amusingly to yourselves.

"Would be ashamed to cut all this short." He says softly with a chuckle.

You nod, joining him in his amusement; watching the others.

"Hopefully Finan has enough stored away for the next few nights," he adds, taking a sip. "Otherwise we will be in a hurry…to get to the next town at least and stock up!"

You giggle madly at his words, unfortunately, drawing the attention of the others, over to the two of you in the process.

"AY!" Finan calls out from across the fire. "What are you two love birds doing over there!?"

Your heart sinks into your stomach and you feel your cheeks flush with red. Uhtred, also feeling the tension, stirs uncomfortably and turns his body towards the fire a bit.

Finan gets up and hobbles over to Eadith and Osferth. You're sure he can hear the beating in your chest as you finally exhale the lump in your throat down slowly.

Finan mocks the two entangled in each other before dramatically sitting himself blunting down between the two of them. Eadith cackles and scoots closer towards you, squishing you closer towards Uhtred. You inch carefully as Uhtred does nothing to move away… but instead, gently places his hand on your lower back. You allow yourself to enjoy the moment for a few brief seconds before turning your head toward Uhtred, and peer up lustfully at his big blue eyes. He smiles gently down at you with a smirk dancing across his face…

You both jump when Sihtric places himself on the other side of Uhtred, breathing a hot wave of ale breath on you. Finan chews thoughtfully on the end of a stick then points playfully to Eadith.

"I'm watching you!" He says sarcastically, pointing between Osferth and Eadith. The crooked circle bellows in laughter as cups are refilled; Uhtred's hand refuses to leave its spot on your back…

So badly you wish to spin your head around and grip his face between your hands and meet his lips with yours. Devouring his mouth, feeling his hot tongue against yours before pulling back and spying his brilliant blue eyes sparking down at you asking not to stop…, but instead you sit still, feeling his huge warm body so close to yours, and the soft tickle of his beard scratching at your temple. Before you can hear the words he tries to mumble, Osferth casts his hand in your direction.

"Us?!" Osferth states, still swallowing down his mouthful of ale. "What about those two?!" He says with a laugh pointing towards you and Uhtred.

You freeze, feeling your throat swell up yet again. The fear makes its way down toward your stomach.

"Can't I ask the lady if she's feeling better?" Uhtred quickly, and smoothly fibs.

His hand falling away from your back as the group seems to accept his lie well enough. The others mumble to themselves as you swallow hard, raising your cup to your mouth trying to hide the redness on your face that has formed. You try to relax again back towards Uhtred's hand but it has disappeared; not as quickly along with the knot in your stomach.

Osferth finishes his cup as Finan eagerly cheers him on.

"Now… sleep," the baby monk replies, tipping his cup upside down.

"Aw no, not yet!" You protest as eagerly as you can, trying not to sound too eager to spend more time next to Uhtred.

Sihtric drains the remains of his cup into his mouth before also agreeing and standing to join the baby monk.

"No! Come on, stay up with us!" You cry again; this time Eadith joining in your plea.

Uhtred makes no comment but begins to stand and walk towards his tent along with the others.

"Aw, forget them ladies…. They're not fun… we can have a good time just the three of us…" Finan jokes.

You and Eadith make eye contact knowing being alone with Finan in the middle of the woods is the very last thing you should be doing…

"Please!" You both beg now. "Don't go, come on, stay here!"

"And do what?" Sihtric snaps, his hands placed firmly on his waist.

You and Eadith sit quietly for a moment trying to come up with a reason…

"Oh I know!" Eadith cries out cheerfully. Let's play a game!"

Osferth strides back over the circle around the fire and seats himself, again by Finan who 'huraws' his return.

"What game?" The baby monk asks hopefully.

"Umm…" Eadith wavers a bit trying to think of one.

"Stones!" Finan pipes in.

"No, we are not playing your made up game Finan!" You tell him with a laugh.

"Oh I know!" Eadith says turning towards you. "What's that game we used to play in the field…back…when we were at…Madam Ells!?..." Eadith asks you through staggering words.

"Uhhhm…" you rack your brain trying to understand.

"Saint amongst Sinners!" She blurts out finally.

You raise an eyebrow at her and peer around the circle; clearly no one else has ever heard of the game.

Sihtric and Uhtred make their way back over and sit down around the fire as well, Uhtred much further away than before, but still beside you.

"Saint amongst Sinners? Well, clearly the Saint is baby monk..game over!" Sihtric states with a laugh.

"No, it's fun!" Eadith assures him all too gleefully. "We all go around the circle naming off ‘sins’ we've never partaken in…" She begins to inform the group.

"Oh yes, I do remember this." You add. "We all start with our hand out, palm open. One by one we all go around the circle and name something bad you’ve never done, but, believe the others may have. If you have, you close your palm and you're out for the rest of the game, but the last person with their palm open is the Saint!"

"Oh… I get it," Sihtric says plainly.

"You do?” Finan says with a straight face. “Well, could you explain it to the rest of us?" He shouts through a laugh across the circle.

"It's easy, watch, Eadith and I will start…" You tell them; sitting with your hand out palm open.

"I am a Saint, for I have never stolen…" you state.

The others copy your open hand and look blankly at each other.

"Now, if you have ever stolen, you close your palm and you're out." Eadith tells them.

She looks to Finan whose hand is still open.

"So you're out Finan, close your hand."

"Why! I've never stolen!" He argues.

"Where'd you get all this ale from?!" She asks with a cackle.

"That's not stealing…thats…its" He tries to reassure the group.

"Stealing, and you're out!" Replies Sihtric as the group roars in laughter.

"Dumb bloody game.." Finan spats sarcastically.

Eadith goes next, "I am a Saint, for I have never told a lie to my mother…"

You reluctantly close your hand and eye the circle seeing you're the only one.

"Dumb game isn't it!" Finan says with a smirk.

"How have you all never lied to your mothers?" You ask shocked, eyeing the others around the circle…

"Hard to lie to your mother when you haven't got one,” Osferth tells you apologetically.

The group roars with laughter, yet again.

~~~~~~~

After a few more rounds of the game it's clear; Osferth was in fact the leading Saint among Sinners in the group. Leading with not having laid with anyone outside of wedlock, not having shamed another publicly, and never telling a white lie… Beyond killing another being in or out of war, that round you found yourself winning. It was now Eadiths turn again, and with the ale flowing steadily she flashed you a quick devilish look and began with her hand open in the circle.

“I am the Saint among Sinners, for I have never lay beneath a blanket with Y/N..”

You’re sure the group could hear your heart slamming in your chest and you carefully eye the circle of hands before you, watching Uhtred reluctantly fold his hand closed and retract it from the view of the others.

You hold your breath in your throat as eyes grow wide meeting each other's looks, quickly followed by inaudible stammering and shouting from across the circle.

You flash Eadith a very disapproving look and try your best to be heard over all the men now shouting around the fire. Eadith, whos far too inebriated to appreciate your looks of terror, force you turn your attention to Uhtred; whose face is painted with a thick smirk as he takes a long sip of ale. You flash him a look of ‘help’ while he eyes you and downs the rest of his cup's contents.

Leading Eadith, the group begins chanting; “Uhtred, Y/N, tell us” while Uhtred and yourself grow restless in your seats.

“There's nothing to tell!” You shout desperately.

Uhtred shakes his head towards the group and lays back against his elbows on the ground. You turn your attention back to him and anticipate with a heaving heartbeat his words. His eyes avoiding yours makes your pulse increase even more..

“It just so happens…”

“It was just one time!” You interrupt him, shaking noticeable.

“...When we all thought Eadith was ill, and it was cold…we ended up under the same blanket in the horse stalls because it was cold!...”

The others ‘ohh’ and ‘ahhing’ over the lie you choose.

“It was just that once…and I’m not sure why Eadith is so adamant on forcing my hand in sharing the story seeing as she already knows…”

You flash her quick look of ‘stop it’ before adding “Who needs another drink?!”

Everyones cup raises and you quickly take the chance to lock arms with Eadith, hoist her up, and begin making your way towards the tent, to grab another stolen bottle of ale.

Eadith laughs as you guide her towards the tent flap.

“What in God's name are you doing?!” You ask in a rasped whisper.

Your heart; still beating rapidly in your chest as you cast the tent flap closed behind the two of you. She leans against the thick tree limb holding the structure secure. Laughter still in her throat, she shakes her head a bit from side to side. You pour her a cup, well knowing she doesn't need a refill and take a long sip from the long bottle neck. You wipe your mouth in disapproval and stare back at her with rage and disapproval in your eyes.

…“I told you…You're playing a very dangerous game Y/N.” she says aftering taking her own gulp from her cup.

“Eadith!” You snap coldly.

She rolls her eyes dramatically, turning her back towards you slowly, peering out from the tents flap back towards the men gathered at the fire.

“You and I were once unbreakable…” she begins with a sad tone in her voice, still staring out towards the men around the fire. “You’re like a sister to me… And still are… Or so I thought…”

You allow a heavy sigh to escape you before shaking your head. She turns back and your look has turned a bit softer now.

“...I’m not sure anymore…What I am sure of, is the secrets you’re are keeping from me these days…” Eadith says with a solemn look on her face.

“Eadith…If there was anything to tell… I would tell you…” You say slowly, before taking a long sip from the bottle. “The truth is I don’t know what to make of Uhtred and myself..”

She rolls her eyes yet again, gathering her dress ready to make her way back towards the group. You lock arms with her, carefully urging her back behind the faint barricade of the tent.

“Alright yes…some things have happened…” You tell her quietly.

She crossed her arms a bit, wavering in place balancing her cup in her crossed arms.

“I watched you slip into his tent last night…” she tells you with a look of drunken disapproval on her face.

You bite back your bottom lip unsure of what to say next. She sighs and casts her look back out towards the group, you peel back the tent flap a smidge, and peer out with her. Uhtred looks back towards the tent and smiles meeting your eye. Eadith, clearly seeing the interaction, no thanksthe lasto Uhtred, cranes her head towards you and allows the tent flap to shut.

“Alright you little Sinner…” Eadith says with a smirk. “Story time…”

Tags:@osferthsworld @emily-forever75-blog @sirenofavalon @rrtxcmt @cosmosworldd @elbereth-bluebird @chemitaromance @deadstarkblacksoul @kimi240302 @buglyberry

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emilyhufflepufftlk · 11 months

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It Can’t Be You | Finan x Eowyn (OC)

From my fic: my hand was the one you reached for

Song: It Can’t Be You by Ashe

Please excuse the dodgy photoshop

@morosemagick @lauwrite1225 @solinarimoon @magravenwrites @93xdiagonxalley @trenko-heart @persephones-journey @medievalfangirl @blah-blah-blah-bla @anotherwinchesterfangirl @muddleofnervouswords @cibs @gemini-mama

#my hand was the one you reached for #finan x oc #finan

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persephones-journey · 10 months

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My last prompt for @emilyhufflepufftlk Em's 500 Follower Challenge. This was was the All You Had To Do Was Stay prompt and I basically used an idea I originally had for my Aisling/Finan fic 'Through the Dark' because it did fit the prompt.

So, be prepared for tears. And it is LONG.

Read here on Ao3.

Tagging: @medievalfangirl @solinarimoon @blah-blah-blah-bla @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @still-with-you @93xdiagonxalley

Finan had lost enough in his life.

He lost his first wife and sons, his first real love, his crown, and his freedom.

When Ragnar had saved Uhtred from the slave ship, and by extension Finan, Finan had thought that his time losing things he loved and wanted was over.

He had found Aisling and married her. He loved her with everything he had left in his broken, patched up heart. He loved the family he was building with her and their two daughters.

It was why, on that chilly winter day, when she stood beside Ragnar and said she was staying, something in Finan's mind and his heart could not comprehend it.

“What?” he asked as Uhtred stood beside him.

“I am staying here in Dunholm,” Aisling said. “You can go and save Aethelflaed. I am staying here.”

Finan's mouth went dry. He walked over to Aisling, and did not care that most of the Danes were in the courtyard. He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Ragnar. Ragnar took a step forward but Uhtred shook his head and Ragnar backed off.

Finan pulled his wife away from everything and stood across from her. “Ya are my wife,” he stated.

“We have been over this, Finan, I know you are my husband, I was there when we wed,” she muttered.

Finan rolled his eyes. “That is not what I meant and ya know it,” he grabbed her shoulders, “I am staying if ya are.”

“No, you can't.”

“The hell I can't,” he half shouted. “Ya are my wife, Aisling, the mother of my daughters. I am not going to let ya stay here alone!”

Aisling shoved him away. He stepped back surprised. “I may be your wife and the mother of your children, Finan, but I am still my own person. I make my own decisions whether you allow them or not.”

Finan's anger spiked. “Don't ya turn this around,” he stated and he stepped back closer to her. “Ya know damn well that I know ya are your own person who is capable of making her own decisions.”

“Really? Then why are you doing this?”

Finan shook his head as she shoved him again. His hands shook in anger and he eyed her. “Why are ya doing this?!” he yelled back. “Why are ya picking a fight with me over me wanting to stay here with ya?” he demanded his voice softening. “We left our daughters behind in Winchester, Aisling, can ya not see that I do not wish to leave ya behind here?”

“And I don't care what your wishes are. They do not matter right now,” Aisling added. Rather cruelly.

Finan's heart, which had been shattered and mended over and over, took the blow and broke again. He felt he could not breathe for a moment. Aisling walked away from him, as if he was not her husband, not the man she loved; as if he was no one to her.

“Finan,” Uhtred said as he walked over and pressed a hand to Finan's chest. “We need to leave if we are-.”

Finan nodded. “Aye,” was all he said.

He walked away, keeping his back towards where Aisling had walked to. He could not look at her.

He would not look at her.

He climbed on his horse and rode out with Osferth beside him. He did not look back at Dunholm or his wife.

He could not look back; his heart was shattered enough.

Stay...

Aisling pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed into them. She cried and cried. She tried not to think of Finan and how he must hate her.

She had done the only thing she could to keep him safe.

And now, he was off with Uhtred saving Aethelflaed, while she was riding with Ragnar and this Great Dane army towards battle with Alfred.

“You could have went with him,” she heard Ragnar say as he walked over to where she sat at the base of a tree.

She snorted and wiped away her tears. “What happened to giving a person privacy when they say they need to go shit?” she asked as she looked at him.

Ragnar smirked and sat beside her. “I am your brother, I know you,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “You did not have to stay with me.”

Aisling cuddled close to him. “No, I did,” she whispered. “I need to be there and save you,” she added.

She felt Ragnar stroke her hair. She closed her eyes as he leaned in and kissed the crown of her head. “I could save myself.”

She smiled. “I know,” she turned and looked at him, “but I need to be there just to make sure.”

He smiled and stroked her cheek brushing her tears away. “One day, he will see that you did not mean to hurt him. And he will forgive you.”

More tears came to her eyes. She looked away. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I just know that right now, there is a part of me that aches and is missing now,” she turned and looked at Ragnar, “I can't feel him, Ragnar. Usually, when we are apart, I could sense him, or his love. But now,” she pressed her hand to her chest, “I don't feel anything.”

Ragnar reached out and took her hand that was on her chest. “He still loves you. That man would have burned down Winchester and Beamfleot for you when the brothers had you,” Ragnar said. “That kind of love, it does not simply go away because things get hard.”

Aisling looked away from Ragnar. “No, but it can be chipped away at and broken until there is nothing left.”

Ragnar cursed in Danish. He leaned in and kissed her temple. “And here I thought Uhtred was the only one who got moody and broody.”

Aisling pulled away from him. She wiped her tears and stood. Ragnar got up and stood beside her as well. She hugged him around the middle when he hugged her tight.

“Come, let's get back on our horses and get moving,” he said as he pulled away. “Cnut has already been complaining.”

Aisling snorted. “Cnut is a cunt.”

Ragnar laughed. “So, you have said over and over,” he added.

Aisling walked beside him. She looked up at the sky. She took a slow breath.

Please let Finan understand. Please. I cannot lose his love or him. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Then why'd you have to go and lock me out when I let you in?...

Finan walked into the chapel at the convent. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He took a slow breath and closed his eyes.

Haesten had not come yet so Finan was going to take a few moments and pray. He needed to pray and offer up his worries, his hurt, his pain to a higher power.

He opened his eyes and walked over to the altar. He looked at it. He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross.

“God, I,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I love her,” he whispered. “I love her still and I know I always will. But I cannot,” he sighed and swallowed again as the pain made his throat close up, “all she had to do was let me stay,” he said. “All she had to do was stay with me. But she could not even do that.”

He fell to his knees in front of the altar. His sobs echoed in the chapel. Moments of his life with Aisling came flooding back. The way she looked at him, her smile, her laugh; her. From the moment he had found her in the river outside of Coccham, he had wanted her. He had felt pulled to her connected to her in a way he had never felt before.

He had thought she would be his happy ending.

Not the final blow to his shattered heart.

“Please,” he begged to any God that was listening, “please bring her home,” he added. “I cannot survive not knowing where she is and if she is safe. Bring her home, just please bring her home.”

He slumped down and wiped his tears away. He looked down at his left hand; the claddagh ring there on his ring finger. This ring symbolizes my promise of everlasting love and loyalty, he heard Aisling voice echo in his head. He closed his eyes and their wedding day came rushing back. His hand shook.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. He reached over to pull the ring off. His fingers shook and he could not make himself pull it off. He dropped his hands and shook his head.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “I can't.”

He sat on the chapel floor praying. He prayed his daughters were safe. He prayed Aisling was safe. But he spent most of his time praying that she came back.

He was so angry at her and hurt, but he needed to see her again. He needed to know she was all right and alive before he decided if he was going to let her go and stop loving her.

He snorted. As if he could stop loving her. Aisling would always be his everything, his second chance, his dream made real.

The day he stopped loving her was the day he stopped breathing.

I wonder if she can say the same, he thought as he prayed.

He was scared of the answer.

This was what you wanted...

Aisling watched Aethelwold with her hand on her sword. The blue stone at the pommel was cold against her wrist but she didn't care. Most of the Danes around her were drunk or had turned in for the night. Brida had turned in finally; in a separate tent then Ragnar. Aisling reminded herself to punch her brother for that later.

If he survived the night.

Aethelwold moved making a big show of pretending to be drunk. He did not see her. Of course not, he had decided without Finan, Uhtred, or Ragnar standing by her side, she was not a threat.

She was going to prove him wrong.

Her ocean blue eyes, they remind me of the ocean off the coast of Irland, my heart, followed Aethelwold. She saw him walk towards Ragnar's tent. She moved long, quietly and hidden under her hood and furs. She had made a show of going to bed and snuck out the back of her tent hours later. Cnut was too busy trying to get Brida into his bed to notice. And Aethelwold was too busy trying to keep an eye on Ragnar and not let anyone else catch on.

It was moments like that she was thankful she had Uhtred's blood flowing through her. The blood of a stubborn bastard, Finan had said more than once.

Finan.

Aisling pushed thoughts of Finan aside as she watched Aethelwold pull the flap back and step into Ragnar's tent. She hurried up, moving around the other two tents until she was at Ragnar's. She pulled her sword out and used it to move the flap aside and she peeked inside.

She saw Aethelwold walk towards the bed. He grabbed Ragnar's sword. That was all Aisling needed. She slipped inside the tent. She saw the servant girl Ragnar had slept with wake up. She pressed her finger to her lips and the servant girl did not scream. Aethelwold turned and saw she was awake and sitting up in bed.

“I'm sorry but you need to die too,” he whispered.

“There is only one person dying tonight,” Aisling said as she stepped behind Aethelwold and pressed the tip of her sword blade against the back of Aethelwold's neck. “And it is not her or Ragnar,” she added.

She saw the servant girl shake Ragnar awake. He sat up and saw Aethelwold and her. He frowned. “What is going on here?” he demanded.

“Tell him, Aethelwold,” Aisling pushed as she pressed the tip deeper into his skin. “Tell him what you planned with Cnut.”

“I-I,” Aethelwold cursed. “Cnut convinced me I should kill you before you kill me,” he said finally to Ragnar.

Aisling looked up and met Ragnar's eyes. Ragnar swung his legs from the bed and stood naked. Aisling groaned and stared up at the top of the tent.

“Really?” she muttered.

“You thought you could kill me?” Ragnar demanded.

“Please, don't harm me! I can be of use! I can-.”

Aisling looked down as Aethelwold began to choke. She watched as he slumped over. She saw Ragnar, holding the sword he had pulled from Aethelwold hands.

“I must speak with Cnut,” he said then.

Aisling nodded. “Pants first,” she said as she looked back up at the top of the tent. “That would be for the best.”

Ragnar chuckled. Aisling turned and left his tent. She put her sword back in its scabbard. She looked up and smirked as she saw Cnut walk out of his tent. She nodded her head at him and saw him frown.

She was going to enjoy watching him squirm later.

All I know is you drove us off the road...

Finan held the shield up and stood beside Uhtred. He watched as Haesten rode towards them with his whole army of men. Finan cursed.

Fear tingled up his spine. He closed his eyes for a moment, and prayed.

He needed to live past this. He needed to survive.

He had a wife to confront again.

Soon, all thoughts of Aisling left his mind though, as the battle started. He fought for his life and that of the men around him. He dodged axes and swords and killed Danes. The battle screamed around him and Finan barely had time to think and focus on anything other than staying alive.

The shield wall, or circle that they had began to crumble. It became a free for all between them and the Danes. Finan barely had time to think about where the men Edward had promised were; he was too busy trying to stay alive.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he heard them. He let out a breath as he swung his sword and killed another Dane. The battle turned then; in their favour. However, he saw Haesten with Skade and a part of him knew that they had still lost what they had really come for.

After, when he had killed all the Danes around him, and the others were running away, he was able to take a longer moment and relax. He sighed and breathed. He looked down at his left hand holding his seax. He saw the blood on it, on his wedding band.

And he felt relief.

For the fact that his wife, the woman who owned his heart and body, his very soul, was not there. Aisling had not been put in danger. She was with Ragnar and the Dane army.

She was safe.

For now.

“Finan, it's Osferth,” Sihtric said suddenly jolting Finan out of his thoughts.

Finan turned and placed his sword and seax in their scabbards. “Where is Uhtred?” he asked.

“I do not know. Around here somewhere,” Sihtric said.

“Find him and tell him.”

Finan jogged over to where Sihtric pointed. He found Osferth sitting there holding his chest. Finan shoved him down and grabbed a cloth and shoved it under Osferth's chest plate.

“Ya will be fine,” he told Osferth as he kneeled on the cold ground beside him. “My girls need their Uncle Osferth around.”

He saw Osferth smile. “You mean, Uncle Baby Monk,” he muttered.

Finan smiled. “Ya love it when they call ya that.”

“I really don't.”

Finan sighed. He smiled but felt tears come to his eyes. “Ya are not allowed to die,” he told Osferth. “I cannot lost anyone else.”

He felt Osferth take his hand. “Aisling is not lost to you, Finan. She is going to come back.”

Finan snorted. “Ya don't know that.”

“I do,” he answered firmly. “She loves you, Finan. She loves you more that I have ever seen another person love someone,” Finan saw Osferth's eyes filled with tears. “She will come back to you, come back to us,” he said softly.

Finan nodded. He looked down as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Ya have so much faith in her,” he whispered.

“So do you, Finan,” Osferth whispered. “I know you do. You're just hurt right now.”

Before Finan could say anything else, Uhtred came over with Sihtric. He swallowed whatever he had been planning on saying.

Uhtred and he had a very shaky truce at the moment. Uhtred was his friend, but he was also Aisling's brother. Finan was under no illusion that Uhtred's loyalty was with Aisling and not him. So, Finan decided not to tell Uhtred how angry he was or hurt by Aisling's actions.

It made for a very awkward journey to Beamfleot and Finan knew it would make for an even more awkward journey back.

The more I think about it, the less I know...

“Are you sure?” Ragnar asked Aisling.

Aisling stood and looked down at the fire. She had her arms crossed on her chest. Aethelwold was dead, his body along with a messenger was being sent to Aethelflaed's estate in Mercia as they spoke. Ragnar, his men, and others who did not like Cnut using a Saxon to try and kill Ragnar in his sleep, had left headed back to Dunholm.

About two hundred men.

Aisling wanted a handful to go back and follow Cnut, Bloodhair, and Haesten. She wanted to follow them to battle.

And rejoin Uhtred and her husband.

“I am,” she answered softly. “I can watch Cnut and the rest from a far and make sure that Uhtred and my husband are safe.”

“You would be helping the Saxons,” Brida spat out.

“I would be keeping my brother and husband alive,” Aisling countered. She looked at Ragnar. “Our brother.”

“Ragnar do not-,” Brida started.

“No,” Ragnar said softly. “Aisling has the right of it. The Great Dane Army was a mess from the start, Uhtred was right about that. The only thing we can do now, is make sure that the Saxon King and his son know that we were not a part of it any longer. Aisling can deliver that message for us.”

“They will believe she is a traitor as well,” Brida said.

Ragnar snorted. “I doubt very much that Uhtred will allow that to happen. Finan either. They will both make sure that everyone knows that Aisling is not a traitor or the enemy.”

Aisling saw Brida roll her eyes but she said nothing. She turned and walked away. Ragnar stepped closer to Aisling and stood in front of her. Aisling looked at him. He reached out and pressed a hand to her cheek.

“I will only choose those men I can truly trust with your safety,” he told her. “I will not just choose anyone.”

Aisling smirked. “Are you saying that I am special to you?” she asked.

Ragnar rolled his eyes. “You know you are,” he yanked her close and hugged her. She felt him kiss her head. “You will be careful, won't you? And you will not wander too close to the Dane army?” he asked softly.

Aisling nodded as she nestled her head on his chest. “I will stay safe,” she answered. “I have no desire to be killed or die before I can see my husband and daughters again.”

“But not Uhtred?” Ragnar teased.

Aisling pulled away. She looked into Ragnar's blue eyes. “I want to see him as well,” she cupped his face in her hands. “He is my brother as much as he is yours,” she said.

Ragnar nodded. “He is,” he leaned in and kissed her forehead, “and he better take care of you. Tell him if he doesn't, I am going to come and beat him.”

Aisling laughed. She nodded. “I will, brother,” she added.

Ragnar held her close. “Come on, let us go and eat and I will choose those men.”

She leaned against his side and nodded. She held him close and tried not to think about Finan. She worried about him and hoped he was well and all right.

She ached for him.

Hey, all you had to do was stay...

Finan stared at the body wrapped in the blankets. He barely heard the messenger, a Dane he thought the man said, go on about how Aethelwold had been killed by Ragnar. After Ragnar had taken his men, and others, including Aisling, and left.

They were headed back towards Dunholm.

“Finan,” Uhtred said. “Aisling is safe,” he said softly.

Finan turned and looked at him. “Is she?” he asked.

He turned and walked away. He headed towards the manor house where he knew Osferth was resting in a side room. He needed to get away from Uhtred before he punched the man.

He walked into the side door and let it slam behind him. He leaned against the wall and cursed. He closed his eyes and slammed his fists beside him against the wall hard.

Aisling was riding back to Dunholm with Ragnar. She would rather do that than ride towards him.

What are ya thinking, Aisling? Do ya even care that I can barely sleep without ya? Don't ya need to be with me? Don't ya ache to have me beside ya again like I ache for ya?

It was too much for Finan. He couldn't understand it; couldn't understand Aisling. He thought he knew her; had been sure he knew her heart and her mind. Would have told anyone who asked that his wife's mind was an open book to him.

But he didn't.

He feared her had never known her at all.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away and took a few more minutes. He did not want Osferth to see how hurt he was. Osferth needed to focus on healing and nothing else.

Finan spent several moments taking slow breaths and wiping his tears away until they stopped. He continued down the hall then and knocked on the door Osferth was in before he pushed it opened. Osferth was sitting up in bed and turned to look at him.

“Has there been news on Skade or Sihtric?” Osferth asked.

Finan shook his head. He still could not believe that Sihtric had taken the prisoners and left Aethelflaed's estate in the dead of the night.

It was a betrayal.

And Finan's heart could not handle another one of those.

“No,” he said softly as he walked over to the bed. He sat down and looked at Osferth. “It was a messenger with news about Aisling,” he added carefully.

He saw Osferth sit up more and look at him. “What news?” he asked carefully.

Finan looked away. “She is with Ragnar heading back to Dunholm. He took his men and separated from the Dane army,” he said.

Silence greeted him. He turned and looked at Osferth. The young man sat there a look of surprise on his face. He nodded then and looked at Finan.

“But she is fine?” Osferth asked.

Finan looked at him. “As far as the messenger knows, aye, she is fine. But she is not coming back to me.”

“Yet,” Osferth said.

Finan raised an eyebrow and gave him a hard look. “Baby monk,” he started.

“No,” Osferth said firmly. Finan heard a strength in his voice he had not heard before. “I do not know her reasons for staying beside Ragnar, I do not know why she has chosen to stay with Ragnar instead of coming back,” Osferth swallowed and Finan could see how much it hurt him as well that Aisling had not come back. “But, I do know that she still loves you, Finan. She will come back to us. You are her home. She will always come back to you.”

Finan heard the conviction in his voice again. He was not sure why or how Osferth could believe so much that Aisling would come back.

Finan, no matter how much he loved her and ached for her, did not believe it that much that she would be back.

“Finan?” Osferth asked softly.

He looked up and met Osferth's eyes. “I wish I could have as much faith in my wife as ya do,” he whispered.

Osferth reached out and grabbed Finan's hand. “Deep down, under all the pain and hurt, I know you believe she will come back to you. I know that.”

Finan felt tears come to his eyes again. He let them roll down his cheeks. He reached out and wiped his tears away. He could not meet Osferth's eyes.

“I have been hurt so much, Os,” he whispered. “I lost the woman I thought I loved, that I thought I could have forever with. She was ripped away from me in the cruelest way by my brother. And then I spent years robbed of my freedom on a slave ship,” he pulled his hand away from Osferth and rubbed his eyes. He stood and began to pace. “Just when I thought I was done, that I did not wish to love again, did not need to have some one to share my life and my heart with, Aisling appeared in that river,” he closed his eyes.

The day floated back to him. He remembered everything about seeing her for the first time. The way her rust hair had floated around her. The white of her dress and the heaviness of it as he had lifted her from the water and pulled her from the bank. The coolness of her skin as he had touched her and held her tight to warm her.

Every moment spent with Aisling was seared into Finan's mind and soul. He could not remember a time before she was in his life, in his arms any longer. It was becoming harder and harder to remember even his time on the slave ship, the worst time in his life, because happy memories of Aisling would flood him.

She was his home, his safe place; his heartbeat.

“Finan,” Osferth said softly bringing Finan back to the present. Finan opened his eyes and looked at his friend, the young man Aisling had urged him to befriend and watch over. “Aisling was meant to be there by your side. You were always meant to find her.”

“Aye,” Finan said. “But we were not always meant to have a happy ending, were we?” he asked.

Osferth looked at him. He gave Finan a soft smile. “I believe you will have a happy ending this time,” he leaned back and winced as he held his side. “I have learned never to count Aisling out. She is stronger than anyone, man or woman, I have ever known.”

Finan smiled and wiped his tears away. “Ya know, baby monk, when did ya get so wise?” he asked needing to lighten the mood. He did not wish for Osferth to worry too much about all this. He needed to focus on his healing and nothing else.

Osferth smirked. “When you weren't looking,” he said.

Finan laughed a bit. “Come on, do ya wish to move around a bit? The healer said ya cannot lay around all day like a king.”

Osferth sighed. “You're right. Help me up. I wish to go check on Uhtred.”

Finan eyed him. “Ya know that mothering Uhtred is my job not yours, right?”

He walked over to the bed and helped Osferth stand. Osferth stood up beside him and wrapped an arm around Finan's waist. Finan saw Osferth give him a soft smile.

“I think right now, both you and Uhtred need a bit of mothering. And since I am the only one here other than Orm,” Osferth took a step, “I guess it's up to me to mother the two of you.”

Finan snorted. “I'm not sure Orm could find his ass with both hands.”

Osferth laughed and snorted. “That is something Aisling would say.”

Finan was quiet. It was something Aisling would say, had said before. Mostly about Aethelwold and even Uhtred if he was annoying her.

He pushed all thoughts of Aisling aside though. He needed to focus on Osferth and Uhtred. And what they were going to do about Sihtric leaving them.

I have enough problems right now. I cannot let the pain of Aisling not coming back swallow me whole.

Well, it could've been easy...

Aisling frowned as she watched the men ride into the Dane camp. She grabbed the looking glass from Ivar, a short round Dane with red hair brighter than hers, and used it. She cursed as she saw he was riding in front of the men.

Dagfinn and Sihtric.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“It would seem that one of the Dane-Slayer's men has abandoned him,” Ivar said.

“Ivar,” Aisling said carefully.

“Yes?”

She turned and looked into his bright green eyes. “Call my brother the Dane-Slayer one more time and I will take your balls slowly and painfully.”

“You'd have to find them first,” the other man on the other side of her, with curly brown hair braided and a bright smile, Harald said. He turned and Aisling found his kind brown eyes looking at her. He winked.

She blushed and turned away. She was fully aware that Harald not only respected her, but he also wanted to bed her. He had been flirting with her even since they rode off from Ragnar and Brida. Ivar also wanted to bed her, but she was very aware that it was because, unlike Harald, he wanted to have the power that he thought would come with bedding and wedding the sister of Ragnar the Fearless and Uhtred, the Dane-Slayer.

Harald it seemed wanted to bed her because he wanted her. Period.

I suddenly miss Orm and his quiet, detached longing from a far, Aisling thought.

“I have a large set of balls!” Ivar exclaimed.

Aisling shoved him. “Will you be quiet before Haesten, Bloodhair, or Cunt himself hears you?” she said. “Head back to camp and make sure it is all set up.”

“But-.”

“Ivar, go,” she said shoving him again.

He rolled his eyes but listened. Aisling turned back to the Dane camp and cursed as she watched what she assumed was the prisoners Uhtred had taken from Beamfleot, for she knew about that from sending Harald into a village the Dane army had left, and the arrival of Haesten shortly after.

“Would Sihtric turn on Uhtred?” Harald asked from her side. She noticed how he moved closer to her.

Aisling sighed and shrugged. “I don't know,” she whispered. She turned and looked at him. He was taller than her, perhaps even taller than Finan. “I would have said no, never but with Skade involved,” she shrugged. “Who knows?”

Harald nodded. “What do you want to do?” he asked as he crossed his arms on his chest. Aisling looked away as he had not done up most of the ties on his tunic and she could see his muscular chest underneath.

Aisling sighed. “We stay back and continue to watch and follow them,” she said softly. “And stay out of sight from their scouts,” she added.

Harald snorted. “Their scouts have been scouting a head like idiots and not behind,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Good for us then.”

She turned and started to walk back towards the camp. Harald fell into step beside her. She glanced at him and saw he walked close to her; like Finan did. She felt his arm bump hers. She turned and looked at him. He gave her a smile.

“I am married,” she answered.

He smirked. “I don't see your husband around,” he answered.

She rolled her eyes. “I am not going to sleep with you, Harald.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

She groaned and stopped walking. She turned and looked at him. “I love my husband.”

“You love him so much you left him behind,” Harald said.

Aisling shook her head. “I needed to be with Ragnar,” she looked into his brown eyes; they reminded her of Finan. Harald's had a spark to them though and she could see flirting look in them. “Finan will understand that,” she said.

“Will he?” Harald reached out and stroked her cheek. “If you were my wife, I would follow you to the ends of the Earth and into Nifheim,” he whispered as he stepped closer. “Nothing would part me from your side.”

He stepped closer and leaned down. Aisling pulled her dagger from its home in the scabbard on her thigh. She pressed it against Harald's cock. Harald stopped his lips almost touching hers. She could feel his breath on her lips.

“I will part your cock from the rest of you if you do not step back,” she whispered her voice soft but clear. “The only man who will ever kiss me is my husband,” she added. Memories of another Dane, with kind brown eyes danced around her mind and she shoved them back in their neat little box and slammed the lid closed.

Harald smiled. “You are fire, Aisling,” he whispered. She felt him stroke her cheek. “I hope your husband knows how lucky he is to have such a loyal wife like you.”

She pressed the dagger more against his cock. The word fire echoing in her mind allowing the lid of that little box to slid open a tad again. Harald chuckled but stepped back. She flipped her dagger around, a move she learned from Uhtred, and placed it back on her thigh. “Let's go,” she muttered.

“That's it?” he asked as he followed her. “No, telling me your husband will hear about this? No threatens of him harming me?”

Aisling turned and looked at Harald. “If you ever try that again, there will be nothing left of you for him to harm. I can take care of myself, Harald. I do not need a man to fight my battles for me,” she said.

He looked at her. He nodded. “Beamfleot has left its mark, I see.”

Her hands closed into fists. She clenched them so hard she felt her nails dig into her palms. “You know nothing of what went on in Beamfleot. You do not know anything of what I went through of those I lost there. You have only heard stories and you are not important enough for me to tell you what really happened.”

Harald eyed her. “It was said Sigefrid loved you. He protected you and refused to give you to his men because of this love. It was why he let Ragnar take you. He knew if you stayed, you would be harmed and he did not wish to risk that.”

And with those words, the lid of the box Aisling kept all her memories of Sigefrid and Erik came falling off as if a bomb had exploded in her mind and the memories flooded her.

“Min lille ild,” Sigefrid whispered to her as he stroked her hair. “You would be more comfortable on a bed,” he added as he wrapped his arms around her.

Aisling blinked her eyes and looked around. She remembered where she was then. Beamfleot. She had been there three days. She pulled away from Sigefrid and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“I will head back to Aethelflaed now,” she said as she stood.

Sigefrid stood beside her. “I will walk you back.”

“You do not-.”

“No, I do,” he looked into her eyes. His brown eyes smiled at her. “I cannot have harm come to you.”

Aisling let tears come to her eyes. My little fire. It was what he had called her. She shook her head as she looked at Harald.

“You know nothing,” she whispered.

He held up his hands. “Apparently neither does your husband.”

Aisling shook her head and turned away. She walked back towards the camp, tears falling as she went. She hugged herself, barely noticing that her palms were bleeding, she had dug her nails in them so deep.

I need to finish this and get back to Finan. I miss him too much. That's all this is.

People like you always want back the love they gave away...

Finan caught his daughters in his arms and held them tight. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall.

The last two weeks had been hard. Uhtred, Osferth, and him had rode off from Aethelflaed's estate to get Skade back and had succeed. Finan and Osferth had also found out that Sihtric leaving had been a plan by Uhtred all along. Sihtric's news though, confirming that Aisling was not with the Danes, hurt though.

Many times, Finan swore he had felt her close, like he could turn as they rode, and he would see her beside him. It had haunted him and gave him sleepless nights.

“Daddy, where's Momma?” Aoife asked as she pulled away from Finan.

Finan placed his hand on her cheek. He did the same with Caoimhe. He rubbed his thumbs on their cheeks and smiled softly.

“Your momma is with Uncle Ragnar,” he said softly.

That was the only explanation he had. He would not tell them that Aisling had abandoned them; abandoned him. No, let them think that she was off helping their uncle.

“Will she be back soon?” Caoimhe asked.

Finan looked at her rust hair, the same shade as Aisling's. More tears came to his eyes. “I hope so,” he whispered. He leaned in and kissed them each on the forehead. “But until then, tell me what you have been up to,” he whispered.

“Aunt Hild helped us read,” Aoife said.

“She is not as fun as Uncle Os though,” Caoimhe answered.

Finan laughed. He pulled them close again. He looked up and saw Osferth walk into the room. He pulled away and kissed them each on the head again.

“Your Uncle Baby Monk is here,” he said.

Osferth made a face but it did not last long as Aoife and Caoimhe turned and ran towards Osferth. They laughed and launched themselves at him. Finan stood and smiled. He watched as Osferth crouched down and hugged the girls. Finan wiped the tears from his face. His hand shook.

He could not believe after all the promises that he had made to Aisling that they would get their daughters back, he was here with them and she wasn't. He looked at his wedding ring and looked away. He put a fake smile on his face and walked over to his daughters.

He would hold them and love them. And he would try so hard not to think about Aisling out there somewhere without him.

All you had to do was stay...

Aisling moaned as Finan's hands stroked her skin. His lips on her breasts sent pleasure washing over her. She raked her fingers through his hair. She blinked her eyes and looked down at him. He looked up and met her eyes.

“I love ya,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she answered.

He kissed her breast. “Then why did ya leave me?” he whispered.

She frowned. “What?”

“He asked why you left him?” she heard Sigefrid asked.

She jumped up and turned. He leaned in the doorway to the room, Finan and Aisling's bedroom in Coccham, his arms were crossed on his chest and he was smiling.

“Did you miss me?” he asked.

Aisling bolted awake. She sat on her bedroll, shaking as sweat rolled down her back. She cursed and rubbed the sleep from her face. She crossed her legs under her furs and sighed.

“So much for a nice sex dream about my husband,” she muttered as she raked her hand through her hair. She had taken it out of the braids knowing it needed to be brushed again and maybe even washed.

She laid back down on the bedroll and looked at the top of her tent. She could see the first rays of sunlight coming in the sky. She heard the camp around her waking up. She closed her eyes and tried to get a couple more hours of sleep.

It was not to be though.

“Aisling,” she heard Harald say as he pushed open the flap to her tent and walked inside.

“What?” she muttered as she stayed in her bedroll with her eyes closed.

“They are on the move again,” he said. She heard him walk into her tent and let the flap fall closed. “We are packing up to leave.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. She saw the desire in his eyes. And there was a part of her, that reckless part that had gotten her into this whole mess, that whispered to pull him into her bed and the hell with everything.

Her wedding band on her finger and Finan's face in her mind stopped her.

She loved him. She ached for him, not some other man. She wanted Finan. Finan. No one else would ever come close to him in her heart.

Ever.

She nodded. “All right, let us follow them,” she answered as she shoved the furs aside and stood. She wore her leather trousers and her shift. She felt Harald's eyes on her but did not look to meet them. “Has there been any word on Sihtric and if he is still with them?” she asked.

“No, he left. It would seem when we saw Cnut ride off, it was Uhtred's plan. The scouts heard talk in the village that he managed to recapture Skade and get away,” Harald answered.

Aisling nodded. She turned and looked at him. “Good,” she said. She grabbed her tunic and pulled it on. “That is one last thing to worry about.”

“I will go and tell the men,” Harald said. He turned to leave the tent but stopped. He turned back and looked at her. “If you do not wish to have my cock inside of you-.”

Aisling groaned. “And here I thought we could go one day without you trying to get into my pants,” she muttered as she pulled her hair out of her tunic and ran her fingers through it before quickly braiding it. Washing it and brushing it would have to wait.

Harald chuckled. “I am trying to get you out of your pants,” he said. She met his eyes. He smiled and she could feel part of her defences begin to crumble. “I just wished to remind you that I also have fingers and a mouth that can be of use to you, if you wish.”

Aisling hated how turned on she got by that. She nodded. “I will remember that,” she muttered. “Now, go and make sure everything is packed up.”

Harald nodded. “Of course,” he said as he turned and left her tent.

She finished braiding her hair and tied it. She grabbed her leather vest and pulled it on. She closed her eyes when her hands began to shake.

First you let your husband, the man who worships the ground you walk on, walk away letting him think you did not care what his opinion or thoughts were. Then it was the dreams and memories of Sigefrid haunting you. Now, you are letting Harald get way too close. What the fuck are you thinking, Aisling?

She asked herself. She shook her head and realized she had no idea what she was thinking or doing. She had been surviving on autopilot since she had saved Ragnar. She had done what she wanted and now, she had no clue what she wanted.

She knew it should be to get back to Finan. But....

She was scared. She was scared he would not want her any longer. She had hurt him. She had chosen Ragnar over him. Pushed him away.

It was probably the last straw for him.

She pushed those thoughts aside and sat on the bedroll and pulled on her boots. She had a Dane army to follow and hide from.

She did not have time to worry about her mistakes.

Or what new ones she would be making.

I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made...

“She is a traitor,” Aethelhelm said.

Finan looked up and met his eyes. “What did ya say about my wife?” he asked his voice dangerously low.

Finan was tired and drained. Alfred had died, Uhtred had been pardoned but then imprisoned. Osferth and Sihtric had barely been able to save Thyra from a bastard who tried to kill her, Aoife and Caoimhe asked every day when Aisling was coming home, and to top it all off, Finan was not sleeping at night.

Hearing Aethelhelm say, in front of Edward and Aethelred and a some aldermen, that Aisling was a traitor was the last straw for Finan. The tenuous grasp of his sanity and temper that he had threatened to finally let go.

“Lady Aisling is a traitor. She is still with the Danes. She could at this very moment be giving them important information about our army and the very walls of Winchester,” Aethelhelm pushed.

“She could be doing the same about Mercia,” Aethelred added. “She has visited my wife a few times and I fear for my wife's safety.”

“Aisling would never harm Lady Aethelflaed,” Finan said standing straight. He went to walk over to Aethelred to pound his face in but Uhtred stood there and pressed a hand to his chest. Uhtred shook his head. Finan cursed but stepped back.

“Lord king,” he said looking at Edward, “you know Aisling. She has trained with you here in this very palace with Steapa,” he said softly. “Her daughters are here within these walls. You know that she would never send a Dane army here and risk their safety.”

Edward nodded. “I do,” he said carefully. He cleared his throat and looked at Aethelhelm. “Do you have proof that Aisling with the Dane army?” he asked.

Finan crossed his arms on his chest and stared at Aethelhelm. The man looked away from him and looked at Edward.

“The fact that she is not here with her husband should be proof enough, shouldn't it?” he asked.

Uhtred pushed Finan gently when Finan's anger spiked and he wanted to lunge at the old man and beat him senseless. Finan saw Edward look away from the man as well.

“It is not proof of anything,” Edward said carefully. “Lady Aisling is with Ragnar, a man that both Uhtred and Finan trust with her safety. I believe Uhtred when he says that Lady Aisling would not come here with an army. She would never put her daughters and those she loves in danger. She is not a traitor.”

“Then why is she not here with us?” Aethelred said. “She has never missed an opportunity in the past to be part of battles or their planning. Why would she miss out on this?”

Finan turned and looked at Aethelred. “She is with her brother, Ragnar. She believed she could change his mind and it seems she has. Which is helping us in this battle.”

“Yes,” Uhtred added. “Aisling was thinking much ahead than any of you were when it came to this battle.”

“I am not surprised,” Edward said as he stood. “Lady Aisling always had a way of making us all look like fools,” he added with a smile.

Finan felt some of his worry and anger ease but not by much. He stepped back from Uhtred and watched as most of the men left the room. He turned and saw Beocca sitting on the chair watching him. Beocca stood and walked over to him. Finan heard Uhtred speaking to Edward.

“Aisling will be there are the battle,” Beocca said.

Finan snorted. “I doubt it. She is with Ragnar at Dunholm by now, no doubt planning on how she can our daughters back without seeing me.”

Beocca frowned. “Is that doubt I am hearing in your voice?” he asked.

Finan rubbed his face. He cursed and turned away. “It's acceptance,” he said softly. “Maybe this time, this is how it is meant to end for her and I. Maybe no matter how much we love each other, it does not matter because in the end, we will never be able to be happy.”

“Finan-,” Beocca started.

“Finan, we need your council,” Uhtred said.

Finan nodded. He walked away from Beocca and towards Uhtred. He was glad for the distraction of planning a battle. It meant he did not have to think about Aisling.

Thinking about her hurt too much. It hurt much more than he had hurt before.

Now that it's just too late...

Aisling wrapped her hair in the towel and dried it. She turned as the flap to her tent opened. She saw Harald standing there. She raised an eyebrow and turned away from him.

“Any news?” he asked softly.

“The Dane army has slowed a bit,” he answered.

Aisling nodded. She tossed the towel aside and grabbed her brush. “Good. We will stay here at camp and send scouts out to keep an eye on them,” she answered.

She began pulling the brush through her hair. She thought Harald would leave the tent. He didn't. He walked over to her and took the brush from her. She let him and did not turn to face him as he pulled the brush through her hair. She closed her eyes and wished it was Finan.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered.

She sighed. “So you have said,” she muttered.

She felt his fingers brush her neck as he gathered her hair together and pulled it back as he brushed it. She felt herself lean back against him. She opened her eyes and felt him part her hair.

“I will braid it for you,” he whispered.

“I can braid it myself,” she answered.

“Please,” he almost begged.

Tears came to Aisling's eyes. She nodded. She closed her eyes again and let Harald braid her hair. She could feel that he was just doing a simple braid, nothing fancy. His fingers would brush her neck and back. She grabbed the leather tie from the bedroll in front of her and handed it to him. She felt him take it, their fingers brushing. She became aware as she looked down at her shift that it was almost see through because it had gotten wet.

“Done,” he said as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Is there anything else you need?” he whispered in her ear.

Aisling turned her head and felt his nose nuzzle her cheek. She reached up and took one of his hands and pulled it down her body. She placed it on her stomach.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

She hated herself for it.

“Close your eyes,” Harald whispered to her as his hand ran further down. “Close your eyes and pretend that I am your husband.”

Aisling whimpered. “That is not fair to you.”

He kissed her neck as his other hand ran around and reached up. She sighed as he pressed it to her breast. “I am getting to touch you,” he whispered as his fingers ran down and began pulling at the ties to her trousers. “That is what I want.”

Aisling reached up and raked her fingers through his hair. She closed her eyes and thought about Finan. She ached for him. She moaned as she felt his fingers pull open her trousers and cup her cunt. His lips kissed and sucked on her neck as his other hand kneaded her breast and played with her nipple. She leaned against him more as she felt his fingers slide up and down her cunt playing with her wetness.

“So wet,” he whispered lowly in her ear. “So needy.”

She whimpered and grabbed his wrist with her hand. “Please,” she whispered.

She moaned as he slid one finger inside of her. She rested her head on his shoulder and squeezed his wrist. She clenched around his finger as she felt him begin to rub her clit with his thumb. He moved his hand on her breast to her other one and began kneading it and playing with her nipple. He slipped another finger inside of her and she felt him nip at her neck.

“Let go,” he whispered.

Aisling felt the pleasure pooling in her stomach. She kept her eyes closed and thought about Finan.

“So warm and inviting,” he whispered in her ear as he stroked her with his fingers. “And all mine.”

Aisling moaned and tugged on his hair. She felt his thumb press against her clit as he rubbed it. She could feel how hard his cock was against her ass and she rubbed her ass against it earning her a growl.

“Someone isn't playing fair,” he grunted as he crooked his fingers inside of her and pressed into that spot that caused fire to spread from her belly to everywhere in her body.

“I learned from you,” she huffed as she felt the coil tighten in her stomach.

She clenched around his fingers and moaned as he rubbed her clit faster and harder. She felt him thrusting his cock against her ass over and over. She wished they were wearing less clothing but this was all they had time for.

“Come for me,” Finan whispered in her ear, his accent getting deeper with want and need.

Aisling moaned and clenched around his fingers over and over wishing it was his cock. She felt the pressure break.

“Finan,” she moaned his name as she came.

Aisling blinked her eyes and cursed as she felt Harald's hand gently squeeze her breast. He thrusted against her ass again and moaned her name. She felt tears roll down her cheeks as she realized what she had done.

“Do not feel shame,” Harald whispered as he slipped his fingers from her. He pressed his hand to her lower stomach. “You needed that.”

Aisling blinked and shook her head. “My husband will never understand.”

“He does not need to know,” Harald whispered. Aisling felt him kiss her jaw. “You were still loyal to him. All you thought about was him.”

Aisling pulled away and began to redo the ties on her trousers. She felt Harald pull his hands away from her and she hated that she missed his touch. She did up her ties and turned around to face him. He cupped her face with his hands and brushed her tears away. She looked into his brown eyes. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Your husband is such a lucky man,” he whispered before dropping his hands from her face.

Aisling shook her head. “He would disagree. I have brought him nothing but pain,” she answered.

Harald leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am sure that he will agree with me. No matter how much pain you have put him through,” he told her.

Aisling didn't answer. She opened her eyes and watched as Harald turned and left her tent. She sat on her bed roll, her legs weak. She pulled her knees up to her chest and sobbed into them. She looked at her hand and saw her wedding ring on her finger.

I love ya, Aisling. Ya are my dream made real. Ya are the one thing I never expected or thought I needed until ya were right in front of me. I will always love ya. Ya have my heart. Always.

Aisling grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. She sobbed and cried.

Her decision to save Ragnar seemed like the worse decision she had ever made.

People like you always want back the love they pushed aside...

Finan stood beside Sihtric. He took a deep breath and looked into the forest.

The day for battle had arrived.

His mind though, was not on the battle that was about to happen. It was back in Winchester with his daughters.

“Daddy, will you be bringing Momma home?” Aoife asked.

“I,” he swallowed his pain. “I don't know, my sweet.”

“Please, bring Momma home,” Caomihe answered as she hugged Finan tight. “I miss Momma.”

Finan hugged her. He reached out and pulled Aoife in his arms. He was holding most of what he loved close.

Only Aisling was missing.

And the hole she left in his life, echoed.

“Finan,” Sihtric said softly.

“Aye?” Finan asked snapping back to the reality in front of him.

“You need to focus on the battle,” he said.

Finan nodded. He took the Celtic cross in his hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed it. He let it fall when he heard Uhtred give the signal.

“Now,” he called out to the men.

He ran with them towards the road where the Dane army was moving. Uhtred had wanted to them to attack the middle making the army fall into chaos. Finan agreed it was a good plan.

As long as the Danes stay surprised enough to allow the Saxons to kill a lot of them.

Finan slashed and yelled as he killed men. He got separated from Sihtric and Osferth as the lines began to break down and the Danes began to gather themselves more for battle.

They recovered a tad too quickly for Finan's liking.

He killed Dane after Dane. Time seemed to still and stop. He kept swinging his sword and stabbing over and over ignoring how his arms and shoulders ached. He heard Aethelflaed and the Mercians arrive but he was focused on staying a live too much to celebrate.

After some time, he felt a tingle up his back. He killed the Dane in front of him. He swung around and swung his sword.

It clashed with Aisling's Dream-Weaver sword. Finan felt his hands shake and he wasn't sure if it was from the shock of seeing Aisling or the vibration of their swords clashing.

“Well, husband,” she said her ocean blue eyes taking him in, “is this your way of asking for a divorce?”

Finan's pants got tighter as he looked at his wife. He lowered his sword and grabbed her leather armour. He yanked her closer and kissed her deeply. He did not care about the battle around them. He kissed her over and over.

“Finan,” she said as she pulled away.

“No,” he stated. “Later,” he breathed her in.

She shoved him aside and he turned and watched as she killed a Dane. She turned and looked at him. “First, let's kill Danes,” she said.

“Aisling!” he heard a man call. He looked over and saw a tall man with dark brown hair braided and a tunic that was half opened. “You all right?” he called.

“I'm fine, Harald!” she yelled.

Finan saw the way the man, Harald's eyes stayed on Aisling. He was too far away to look deep in them, but Finan was close to enough to notice the man's eyes lingered and stayed on Aisling long after Aisling had turned away from them. Finan watched as Harald nodded at him and turned away. He felt unsettled by it.

And he was reminded of Sigefrid. And how that Dane's eyes had lingered on Aisling. How Sigefrid had looked at her before he dragged her to Beamfleot. Anger began to build and boil.

He turned and began killing the Danes again.

He had felt relief at seeing Aisling. But now, he felt all that anger and rage come flowing back to him. He let it loose on the Danes.

He did not wish for the battle to end. He feared what words he would say to Aisling.

He feared he would say something he could not take back.

But people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye...

Aisling grabbed the axe from the dead Dane and swung it killing the Dane that had been charging towards Finan. She looked around and saw that most of the Danes were running away. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw Harald standing there.

“You all right?” he asked. She looked at him and saw that he was covered in blood. As was she.

“I am fine,” she said as she patted his chest. “Go check on the rest of your men before you head back to Dunholm.”

“What? No reward from the king?” Harald teased.

“Ya will be lucky to keep ya head,” Finan said as he walked over. Aisling saw the way he looked at Harald. “Finan, Aisling's husband.”

She saw Harald smirked. “I know, I have heard a lot about you,” Harald said. “I am Harald. And I will leave you two alone.”

“Safe travels,” Aisling told him.

He smirked at her. “I do hope we meet again.”

She watched as he walked away. She turned and saw Finan eyeing her. She wiped the blood off her sword and put it in the scabbard. She stepped closer to him only for him to step back. She sighed.

“Finan,” she whispered.

He looked away from her. “I had to tell our daughters that ya were with Ragnar and I didn't know when ya would be home,” he answered. She watched him as he put his sword and seax back in their scabbard. He looked at her and the pain she saw in his eyes, it tore her apart. “They were asking for ya even when I left for battle.”

Tears came to her eyes. “I did what I had to and-.”

“All ya had to do was stay with me, Aisling,” he told her firmly. “Or let me stay by your side. Ya did neither.”

She watched as he walked away in the forest. Her own anger spiked. She stalked after him and shoved him. She saw Osferth walking towards them but Sihtric grabbed him and pulled him away. Finan turned and looked at her. She shoved him again and he grabbed her arms.

“You could never understand why I made the decision I did!” she yelled at him.

“Ya never gave me a chance to understand!” Finan yelled back at her. “Ya shut me out!”

She shoved him. “You let me shut you out!”

She felt Finan yank her close, her body was pressed up against his. He looked down at her, rage and anger in his eyes. “Do not lay this at my feet, Aisling,” he said. Her name was filled with such hurt, Aisling's knees buckled. “I tried to stay with ya, I tried to get ya to talk to me but instead ya pulled ya head in like a turtle and would not let me in. Ya hid like ya always do and I am tired of trying to pull ya out into the open.”

Aisling pulled herself away from him. She shoved him and looked at him tears in her eyes. “So, much for being there and loving me, huh?” she asked.

“No,” Finan said his own tears in his eyes. “Ya do not get to do that. Ya do not get to turn this on me. Ya were all I wanted, still want. I would burn down villages for ya, I would burn this whole land to the ground to keep ya and our daughters safe. Ya had me, Aisling, I was yours and all ya had to do was let me stand beside ya. But ya could not do that. Ya do not get to be hurt and angry here. I do.”

Aisling shook her head. “Fuck you, Finan,” she said as she turned and stalked away towards where Uhtred stood with the others, a far distance away.

“Real mature, Aisling,” Finan called after her.

She stuck up her middle finger at him and kept walking. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. And as much as she wanted to be angry and pissed at him...

She knew he was right.

He had every right to be angry. Not her.

It just hurt so much standing across from him and not being able to hold him or touch him.

This time, in order to work it out, she would actually have to talk about her feelings and she wasn't sure she could handle that.

Here you are now, calling me up, but I don't know what to say...

Finan sat on the cot in the tent and felt his whole body ache. He pulled off his boots and winced. The battle was over, they had won and most of the Danes were gone. The last time he had seen Aisling, she was speaking with Edward and Aethelflaed with that Dane Harald. That had been a couple of hours ago and Finan had made sure to avoid her since. He did not wish to be around her just yet.

That's a lie, a voice in his head echoed, the moment you saw her again, all you wanted to do was pull her into your arms and hold her tight and close. It is killing you being apart from her.

He began to pull off his armour slowly. He tossed the chainmail on a chair. He turned when he heard the flap of the tent open. He saw Aisling standing there, her red hair standing out so much in the dark of the night behind her.

“Uhtred said there are no tents to spare and suddenly Osferth and Sihtric snore,” she muttered as she walked into the tent. “I'll sleep on the floor,” she muttered.

“No, I will sleep on the floor,” he said standing.

She held up her hand. “I feel guilty enough about everything, I don't want to add throwing you out of your bed to the list,” she said softly.

Finan looked at her. He saw the bags under her eyes then and the slowness in which she moved. He frowned. He knew all the signs to tell she had not been sleeping well. He saw them now. He watched as she slowly began to pull off her armour and toss it aside. He walked over to her, now in his tunic and socks on his feet. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. She stopped moving. He gently brushed her hair aside and began to help her pull off the thick leather tunic she wore.

“Let me help ya,” he whispered.

She nodded but did not say anything else. He helped her push off the tunic and he tossed it aside. He wrapped his arms around her waist then, and pulled her closer to him. She sighed and he felt her place her hands on his. He leaned down and nuzzled his face in her neck.

“I missed ya, Aisling,” he whispered, all the fight leaving him. He just wanted to hold her and never let her go again.

“I missed you too,” she admitted.

He held her closer. He closed his eyes and took in her scent. “The girls missed ya as well,” he answered softly. “Aoife is getting very good with her wooden sword,” he added. “Caoimhe as well.”

Aisling was quiet in his arms. He kissed her hair and opened his eyes. He let her pull away from him. She turned and faced him. He saw the tears rolling down her cheeks then. She hugged herself and met his eyes.

“I am sorry for pushing you away,” she whispered. He hated the hurt he saw in her eyes. “I really thought it was the only way to save Ragnar. I thought I was doing what was right and I should have,” she hugged herself more. “I should never have let you ride away from Dunholm without knowing that I love you, Finan. I love you so much,” she sobbed.

Finan pulled Aisling in his arms. He held her tight and let her sob into his chest. He stroked her back and played with her hair. He felt his own tears begin to fill his eyes. He held Aisling closer and felt her hands grab his tunic tight.

“I know ya do, Aisling,” he whispered. “I love ya as well,” he swallowed, “it was just so hard without ya beside me. I needed ya and ya weren't there and,” he cursed and kissed her head, “it does not matter.”

“It does,” Aisling said as she pulled away and looked up at him. “I don't want you to hide away your hurt from me, Finan. I know what I did. I can handle the fallout from it.”

“Can ya?” he asked softly. He cupped her face with his hands and brushed her tears away. “Cause I am still so hurt and so damn angry. And there is a part of me that is questioning whether we should even stay together,” he added.

He hated the hurt that flashed in his wife's eyes then. She nodded though, as if she had been expecting to hear that. She slowly pulled herself away from him again. He watched as she looked down at her wedding band. She looked up and met his eyes.

“Maybe we shouldn't,” she whispered so softly, Finan thought he misheard her. “Maybe we should go our separate ways.”

“Is that what you want?” he demanded.

“Is it what you want?” she spat back.

He looked at her, his brown eyes taking her in. He shook his head. “I just want ya, Aisling. Always have, always will,” he said softly. “But all I know right now, is that ya are the one that drove this wedge between us. I cannot fix this, ya have to.”

He saw Aisling nod. She looked away from him. “I made a mistake,” she whispered.

“I know but ya are here now and-.”

“No,” she said softly. “I made another mistake other than letting you leave Dunholm and staying behind with Ragnar,” she added. She met his eyes. “I let another man touch me,” she whispered.

Finan's world, which had been holding on to a very thin thread, crashed right there in front of him. His legs felt weak and he sat on the cot. He placed his face in his hands and stared at the bottom of the tent. He looked at Aisling when she kneeled in front of him.

“Finan?” she asked softly.

He looked at her. “It was Harald, wasn't it?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “It was just his fingers, nothing else but,” she looked away and he could see the shame on her face, “I thought of you the whole time. I ached for you, and I know it wasn't right but,” she cursed and shook her head, “there is no but. It wasn't right, I never should have done it. It's just one more thing where I put my needs in front of yours,” she whispered.

Finan looked at her. His wife, his love, his heart. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He did not know what to feel, what to say. He felt Aisling place her hands on his knees. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

He knew he should feel anger and rage at the thought of another man touching her but instead... All he felt was sadness. Sadness that they had gotten to this place, that they had ended up there. He just wanted it all back.

He wanted her back.

“I don't,” he cursed as tears fell, “I don't know what ya want me to say or do with this, Aisling,” he admitted. “Why did ya tell me?”

“Because I could not lie to you about that. You deserved the truth,” she reached up and brushed his tears away. “You are my husband, Finan, the one I made vows to,” she added. “I need to be honest with you. It's what you deserve.”

He nodded. He pressed her hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes. “Do ya care for Harald?” he asked.

“I care for him as a person, he was kind and nice to me. But as more than a friend, no, never,” she answered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He reached out and pulled her closer. She straddled his lap and he looked deep into her eyes. He saw the love swirling in her ocean blue depths. He reached up and brushed some loose hair that had come out of her braid. He kissed her nose and rested his forehead against hers.

“Finan?” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

He ran his hands down her back and pressed her hips closer to him. He looked into her eyes. “Do ya love me?” he whispered.

Tears rolled down Aisling's cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered.

“So, ya want me, and,” he swallowed the emotion becoming too much for him, “ya don't want to leave me?”

“Finan,” she said softly. She cupped his face in her hands, “I don't want to leave you. Ever,” she said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

He closed his eyes. “But ya did,” he whispered. “Ya let me leave ya and ya,” he held her closer, “ya acted like I meant nothing to ya. Like I was no one.”

He felt Aisling press a soft kiss to his lips. “You are my everything,” she whispered, her breath hitting his lips. “You mean everything to me, Finan. You have given me the strength and the love I needed to be who I am,” she whispered softly. “Me letting you leave was me being a stupid idiot and putting my own needs and wants first,” her fingers stroked and scratched his beard. “I was being selfish and I am so sorry for it.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “And Harald?” he whispered.

“Another selfish mistake,” he saw her tears falling. “I don't want him,” she moved closer to him. “I want you, Finan. Only you.”

Finan pulled her closer and his lips crashed against his. He kissed her fiercely. She kissed him back the same. He ran his hands up her tunic needing to feel her skin against his.

Needing to have her again.

He yanked off her tunic and tossed it aside. He felt her do the same to his. He grabbed her and pulled her closer his hands running down her back. He moaned as her breasts pressed against his chest. He kissed along her jaw and held her tight to him. He felt her fingers rake through his hair and he nuzzled his face in her neck.

“I ached for ya, Aisling,” he whispered as he ran his hand around her side to her trousers. He began pulling on the ties. “When I finally slept, I would dream of being balls deep in ya and ya screaming my name,” he added.

She whimpered. “I dreamt of you too,” she whispered. “I needed you so much.”

He pulled away and looked at her. “So much, ya let another man touch ya.”

“Finan-.”

He cut her off by kissing her again. He didn't want to hear about how sorry she was. No, he wanted to show her that no other man would be able to make her feel like he could.

He needed to show her how completely and utterly his, she really was.

He dumped her on the cot beside him. He stood and pulled off her trousers, tossing them aside. He quickly undid his own trousers and tossed them aside. He ran his hand down and cupped Aisling's cunt in his hand. She was wet. He slid two fingers inside of her and she moaned, arching her back for him. He watched as she opened her legs for him. He stroked her thigh with his other hand.

“Did he touch ya like this?” he demanded. “Did he know how fast or slow to go for ya?”

Aisling moaned as he moved his fingers and crooked them, stroking that spot that would guarantee her the most pleasure. She looked at him with her ocean blue eyes half closed and shook her head. “No, he didn't,” she admitted.

Finan rubbed his thumb against her clit and felt how wet she was for him. He watched as she grabbed her breasts and began to play with her nipples. His cock twitched and ached to be inside of her. He had missed her warmth wrapped around him. She moaned again and Finan knew he could not wait any longer.

He pulled his fingers from her and grabbed her thighs. He pulled her closer to the edge of the cot and took his cock in hand. He placed the tip at her entrance and thrusted into her, filling her completely with one hard thrust.

“Finan,” she moaned as she grabbed his shoulders.

He stilled. He looked down at her, met her eyes with his own. He saw love in her eyes. Love, regret, hurt, and need. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. His nose rubbed against hers. He breathed her in.

“Stay,” he whispered to her. “Promise me, ya will stay from now on, here with me,” he said as she looked into her eyes.

He saw her eyes fill with tears. “I promise to stay, Finan,” she whispered. “I swear I will be by your side. I will not leave you and push you away.”

He kissed her. He slowly pulled his cock from her and slid it back in. Slowly, so very slowly. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders and her legs wrapping around his waist. He held her hips tight and close. He ran his hands up her body and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his arms. He sat on the cot and she straddled his lap again.

He looked into her eyes and she looked into his. He held her close.

“I cannot do this without ya,” he whispered as his tears rolled down his cheeks. “I felt so empty without ya beside me. I cannot do that again. I have lost too much, Aisling. Ya were, and are, my last chance at love, my last hope and,” he paused and pressed his hands on her back, “my dream made real. Ya have me, ya always will have all of me, but I cannot have ya lock me out of your feelings and heart again,” he closed his eyes feeling the sobbing start, “I need all of ya, Aisling. I need every single part of ya heart in this with me. I need,” he stopped and started sobbing.

“Finan,” she whispered her hands cupping his face. He saw that she was crying as well. He felt her clench around his cock. “You have me. You have every single part of me. My heart, my body, my very soul is yours,” she whispered. “You made me believe in love, believe in marriage and a happily ever after with the person I loved. I am with you in this,” she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I have always been with you.”

He kissed her deeply and thrusted into her. She moved her hips against his and he kissed her over and over moaning into her mouth as she moaned into his. His hands pressed her body against his and he felt her arms wrapped around his neck and held him tight. He felt himself coming close. He thrusted up into her harder and faster and she met his thrusts as she raked her fingers through his hair.

“I fucking love ya,” he told her his feelings evident in his voice. It was deep and full of need and want. For her.

Only for her.

She was his dream made real. It killed him that another man had touched what was his, but she was there, in his lap, on his cock.

In the end, she had chosen him, showing that she was his as much as he was hers. And he knew, he was completely and utterly hers.

His heart beat for her and only her.

“Finan,” she moaned as she reached between them and began to rub her clit. He kissed along her jaw to her neck. He bit her pulse point and she moaned. “Fuck,” she moaned as she fell over the edge into pleasure.

He felt her clench hard around his cock. He thrusted into her again and again and again. He came and held her tight and closer to him. He stayed buried deep inside of her. He felt her place soft kisses on his cheeks, kissing away his tears. He ran his hands up her back and tangled them in her hair.

“Don't leave me,” he whispered softly.

“Shh,” she soothed him. “Never, Finan, I am never leaving you.”

He nuzzled his face in her neck and held her close as he cried. He ached to believe her.

He wasn't sure he did.

You were all I wanted

But not like this

Not like this

Oh, all you had to do was-

Hey, all you had to do was stay

#ems500 #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #finan #finan fic #finan x oc fic #finan x oc #Finan x Aisling

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