#haesten and cnut

[northbndtrain]

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

[lord-aldhelm]

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

[dailytlk]

THE LAST KINGDOM / 3x10

[justasightseer]

Okay but why is this so accurate??? 😭

(Not mine, found on Twitter)

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Yield to me

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

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

Warnings: SMUT 18+

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

Word Count: 5,9 K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whined loudly as he suddenly pulled away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think you can handle me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[destinyisall-tlk]

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

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"I don't know what to say."

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

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

[itbmojojoejo]

Mojo's TLK "Sexy" Man Smash Or Pass

These are my own personal preferences, I will not pass judgement on anyone's own choices, please respect mine LMAO. Feel free to reblog/repost with your own answers if you wish.

Uhtred - Lowkey smash. Finan - SMASH ALL DAY! Sihtric - SMASH ALL DAY EVERYDAY! Osferth - Smash lovingly. Halig - ...smash Clapa - Smash? Young Ragnar - Smash. Sigefrid - SMASHSMASHSMASH. Erik - SMASH. Haesten - Pass. Cnut - smash. Sigtrygrr - Smash. Rognvaldr - Pass. Wolland - SMASH. Sigurd (Bloodhair) - Pass. (Edit - smash.) Guthred - PASS. Alfred - Pass. Edward - Very lowkey smash, after wine. Aethelwold - Pass. Aethelred - Hate smash. Aldhelm - Smash adoringly. Father Beocca - Smash guiltily. Father Pyrlig - Smash any day. Steapa - Pass. Leofric - Pass. Aelfric - PASS. Whitgar - HARD PASS.

I'm procrastinating again, can you tell?

[itsthestutterforme]

Pyrlig’s Spy (Sihtric x black!reader)

Summary: Father Pyrlig is your adoptive father and raised you as his own in the church. You had became a spy for King Alfred and now became a spy for his successor, Prince Edward. Father Pyrlig asks you to help Uhtred to take down Cnut and you hesitantly agreed.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, sexual themes (oral sex - fem receiving), minors DNI, this is a long one sorry not sorry

—

Uhtred went to Durham to rest his men and buy some time to figure out what to do next. As of now, him and his men were traitors to the Saxon crown. He will forever be tethered to Wessex and the Saxons. All he ever wanted for this life was to reclaim his birthright to Bebbangburg. Without an army, there was no way he could take back Bebbanburg.

“Lord,” Finan says, nudging his head in the direction of a familiar face. Uhtred’s face fell when he saw Father Pyrlig sitting at a table, reading the scroll in his hands. Uhtred stands from his table and Finan follows.

“You plan on telling Edward where I am, Father?” Uhtred asks, snapping Pyrlig out of his thoughts. “Uhtred,” he says, closing his scroll and tucking it back into his satchel. “No, I’m here on other business.” “Is that right? And what business may that be, Father? A whorehouse?” Finan teases, making Uhtred chuckle.

You heard the tail end of the conversation and didn’t like what you heard. “Mind your tongue, Dane.” You say from behind him, rounding the table. You wore a cloak with a deep hood, making it nearly impossible to reveal your features to the men before you. “Not a Dane,” Finan corrects.

“And who might you be?” Uhtred asks. “None of your business,” you snap. By this point, Osferth and Sihtric were by Uhtred’s side and Father Pyrlig stands to mediate. “Easy boys. This is my adoptive daughter, Y/N. She can be protective.” He explained. “Daughter?” It’s okay to show yourself. They are friends.” He adds.

You waited a moment before pulling back your hood as you looked at the group. “She’s beautiful,” Osferth whispers to Sihtric, warranting an elbow to his stomach. “She has a sharp tongue,” Uhtred says in a amusement. “She has a sharp sword to match,” you snark.

“Y/N, play nice.” Pyrlig states, your gaze softening when you looked at him. “It’s good to see you, Father. I have news.” You start, not wanting to debrief him in front of strangers. Sihtric in particular caught your attention, his darkened gaze awakened something in you no one else did in a long time.

“Do you trust them?” You ask Father Pyrlig. “With my life,” “Very well. There’s much to discuss. We should go somewhere private.” You stated.

**

Since the day you first met Sihtric in Durham, he’s creeped his way into your head. You can still see his gaze when your eyes are closed. Even when you are under another man, all you could think about was how it would feel to be under him.

Your cover was being a healer for the Danes. Thankfully Haesten has taken a liking to you, which further protected you in your cover. You spaced out your visits to Durham to brief Father Pyrlig to avoid suspicion. Uhtred and his men were stationed there until you gave them the window to attack and take over Cnut’s army.

You were training with Pyrlig when you felt eyes on you. You looked over your shoulder to see Sihtric glancing over at you while he brushed his horse. Pyrlig nudged you with the back of his sword, causing you to stumble. “Eyes up,” he instructs. You turn your attention back to training and crouched down into defensive position.

“Why do you stare at her and don’t say anything?” Osferth asks, brushing his own horse. “I.. always find myself at a loss for words whenever she’s near.” “What worries you, Sihtric? That she may not like you?” Sihtric spares him a glance, brushing the hay off his horse and walking to where Finan and Uhtred were sitting.

“She’s captivated by you, Sihtric.” Osferth states. “Drop it, Osferth.” He states. “Drop what?” Uhtred asks. “Nothing, lord.” Osferth spares Sihtric a glance and follows his gaze to you walking back to your hut for a bath.

Uhtred, Osferth and Finan turned in for the night. Sihtric decided to stay up late, hoping to catch you before bed. You were walking back from talking to Father Pyrlig when Sihtric caught your eye. He takes a sip of his ale and held your gaze. You’ve had enough of the stares and no talking. Your legs had a mind of its own as they strided over Sihtric.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” You asked. “N-no, my Lady.” “Something keeping you awake?” You asked after a lengthy pause. “I’m afraid so,” “Would you want some company then?” His cheeks reddened at your words and he set down his cup. “How do you mean, my lady?”

You didn’t respond to his question. Instead, you pulled off your cloak and loosened the ties on your dress. His eyes fell to your the swells of your breasts before meeting your gaze. You gathered your cloak in your hands, walking up the steps to your hut.

You tossed the cloak on the table and pulled your gown off so your entire back was exposed before closing the door. You placed the gown on the table next to your cloak, smoothing your hands over your night gown. Sihtric contemplates what he should do next.

He hears a small voice in his head. It’s Finan’s voice saying, “Move it or lose it, idiot.” He stands from the table and made his way to your hut. He opens the door to see you sitting on your bed patiently for him. He closes the door behind him but doesn’t move from his spot in front of the door.

“Do you.. like me, Sihtric?” “Yes, I do.” “Well it doesn’t seem like it,” you stood from the bed and you could see the confliction behind his eyes. “What’s holding you back? Is it another woman?” You ask as you slowly walk around him. “No, my Lady. I am unmarried,” he answers.

“Mm, then what is it?” “You make me nervous like a young boy and his first crush. I.. can never think straight when you’re around.” “Do you wish for me to leave?” “No, lady.” “It’s Y/N,” your face was now inches from his but you only met him half way. “Y/N,” he whispers against your lips and you hummed softly.

He pushed his anxious thoughts from his head for a split second and pressed his lips to yours. He pulled away for a moment, holding your chin to deepen the kiss. Your hands fell to his biceps, take a step backward to lead him to the bed.

You pulled away from his lips and held his gaze as you sat on the bed, pulling him close by his belt. His hands covered yours, smiling at your confused expression. He pulls off his armor and shed his tunic and weapons onto the floor soon after.

He follows your lips until you laid down on your back, kissing your passionately and warmly. Taking the bottom of your night gown and lifting it over your hips. He pressed a peck to your lips before moving south, propping your legs on his shoulders.

A soft sigh leaves your lips when he licks up the stripe of your folds, lingering on your clit. He laps up your juices and circles your clit softly with the tip of tongue. You gently rolled your hips against him, groaning when his beard scratch brushed your folds. “P-please,”

He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before taking the bundle of nerves between his lips and sucking harshly at it. Your eyes rolled back, the arch in your back deepening. “Fuck, Sihtric. That feels so- oh,” he suctions and kitten licks at your clit, following the pearl with every motion of your hips, not stopping until he felt your body seize.

One of your hands gripped the sheets and the other rested on the back of his head. Your eyes screwed shut when your legs shook along with your orgasm. He pulls away from your legs, kissing your neck and rubbing his knee against your throbbing clit.

He swallowed your quiet sobs and whimpers. “Would you like me to do that again?” He asks, you moaned at the taste of your salty essence. “Is that a yes?” You held the side of his face when he moves to go back between your legs. “I-if you do that, I’ll fall unconscious before you can hump me,” you explained.

“I’d much rather lick you again, lady.” He says softly, pressing a kiss to your palm but he waits for you to nod before returning to his place between your legs. You never met a man that enjoyed giving you pleasure, let alone seek your pleasure before his. He could tell you were close to another orgasm from the intense shaking on your legs.

He kitten licks as quick as his tongue allowed. You twisted your body away from him but he wrapped his arms around your hips. You chanted his name through your orgasm, whining when he doesn’t pull away from your cunt. “No more. Gods, please!” You cried out from the overstimulation.

He pressed a kiss to your cunt before pulling away once again. He gathered you in his arms and cradling your body as you laid on his chest, smiling proudly when he sees your eyes fluttering closed.

“Lord Uhtred suggested I become a spy for him as well. Pretend to offer my sword to Cnut.” He breaks the silence, dragging his finger tips up your back. “Have you ever been a spy before?” You asked, slowly peeling your eyes open. “No,” “Then you have to be very careful,” “You worry for me already, lady?” He jokes. “Things can go wrong very fast so just promise me you’ll be careful,” you explain, holding his gaze.

“I promise,” you sighed when he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I haven’t heard Lord Uhtred talking about sending another spy,” you pondered, noticing his heart race in his chest. “It was your idea wasnt it?” You lifted your head from his chest and sat up next to him.

His heart continued to race when he saw a look of amusement in your eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he defends, his eyes never leaving yours as you straddle his waist. “Mm, looks like you need something to jog your memory,”

**

You gave Sihtric basic pointers on how to not give yourself away as spy. But all of that went out of the window when he noticed how bold Haesten was. How his hand lingers on your waist and slides down below your lower back. One night, you spent the entire night on Haesten’s lap to make up for Sihtric’s staring.

In your cover, you were only attracted to Haesten and that was one thing that came to mind. Sihtric wanted to break Haesten’s neck at the sight.

But no matter how hard you tried to divert attention from Sihtric, he was caught listening to Cnut’s conversation with Haesten and Bloodhair. “Seem like we have a traitor in our midst,” Bloodhair says, dragging Sihtric from outside their tent to the center of the ground for every to see, including you.

“Oh no,” you said to yourself. “Behold! An eavesdropper! Chances are he works for the Saxon scum, King Alfred! He wishes to tell him of our plans! Whatever should we do with him?” The camp circles around as Bloodhair forced Sihtric to his knees. “Kill him!” One man said, others murmured in agreement.

Bloodhair sheaths his sword and your heart sank in your chest. “Have him fight for his freedom!” You announced, moving closer to the crowd. “He doesn’t deserve that! Kill him!” “He is still a Dane,” “A Dane that betrayed his own people for the Saxons is hardly a Dane,”

You sighed, watching as Sihtric glares up at Bloodhair. “She’s right. He’s still a Dane.” Brida tells Cnut. “Have him fight for his freedom. But not now. We need to make a new plan.” Cnut tells Bloodhair. He grips the back of Sihtric’s collar and pushed him through the crowd.

“Bind him and keep his mouth shut,” Bloodhair tells his guards. You walked back to your healer tent, not wanting anyone to see your relief that Sihtric is still breathing. “Why did you defend him?” Your heard Haesten ask from behind you.

You turned to face him and he closed the space between you. “I’m.. not like you guys. I heal people, I don’t kill them. I don’t like seeing death either.” It was a lie obviously. This wasnt your first spy mission He stared at you a moment and you looked at him with sad eyes. “You’re too pure for a place like this, love.” He finally says, holding your face in his hands.

“Come by my tent tonight?” He questions, but you took it as a statement. “Okay,” he nudges his nose against yours before pulling away from you. You returned to your tent, never glancing in Sihtric’s direction. You kept an ear out for when the supposed fight but it never came.

It was close to sunset and you decided to take your chance. You tucked your knife under your gown as you made your way to the stables to get your horse. You brought it the edge of the the forest line, letting it feed on the grass there.

You waited until most of the men were eating or talking amongst themselves to approached the tent that Sihtric was held in. Two guards were outside the tent. You took the knife from his clapped a hand over one’s mouth and slit his throat. Dragging him behind the tent, you waited until the remaining guard rounded the corner.

He gripped his neck as you severed his corrotid. You glanced around before entering the tent, pressing your index finger to your lips when Sihtric’s eyes cut to yours. You quickly cut through his bindings and cut a hole through the back of the tent.

You peeked your head through the hole you made and ran like hell towards your horse. Brida caught movement in the corner of her eye, her jaw clenched when she saw you and Sihtric running towards the forest. “The traitors are getting away! Archers, kill them!” Brida orders.

Some archers rushed to their horses. You and Sihtric already mounted your horse. You took the reigns into your hands, turn the horse to move south when you felt a pinch on your arm. “Ah, fuck!” You looked down to see an arrow piercing straight through your arm.

“Y/N,” Sihtric says worryingly. You snapped the reigns and your horse dashed through the forest. You and Sihtric ducked to avoid anymore arrows while your arm throbs. When you cut through a path and lose the archers, your adrenaline slowly dwindled away and the pain took over.

“We should stop. Get you help.” He suggests. “We can’t. We need to keep moving. It’s fine as long as the arrow is still in my arm. The second you take it out, the bleeding will worsen.” “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.” “Stop that. Just.. hold me until we get to Durham.”

He nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around your and took the reigns into his hands. He places a kiss behind your ear. The peace of the forest, your horse’s soft clicks of her footsteps and chirps of the birds calmed your nerves. You closed your eyes for a moment, leaning further into Sihtric’s chest and thoroughly enjoying his warmth. “Why did you sacrifice the cover you’ve built for weeks, to save me?” He asks after a few paces of silence.

“I’ve seen enough death for a lifetime.. I didn’t intend to see another.” You explained softly. He cupped your chin and turned your face until you were looking over your shoulder. He rested his forehead on your, brushed the tip of his nose against yours.

“Thank you,” he pressed his lips to yours, humming into the kiss. “You saw what Haesten did, didn’t you?” You asked with a pained laugh. “I wanted to break his hands. You’re mine. Not his.” you let out another laugh, wincing when your arm flexed unintentionally. “So I take it, my cover was convincing?” He hummed in response, kissing behind your ear again.

[anoncat6]

PETRICHOR | sihtric x oc | part thirteen

part one

13. ambush in the forest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sihtric went stiff, “He didn’t—“

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

<>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<>

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

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

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

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

The shining crimson dripped down into the river.

One drop. 

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

Another drop.

“My baby— my perfect, undying son.”

A final drop.

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

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

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

<>

The battle came quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uhtred, the brother given to her by Gisela…

Finan, the Irishman who could always make her laugh…

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

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

-> END OF SEASON 3

Tags: @travelingmypassion

[bagheerita]

Cnut: Uhtred is trapped! One of us must go kill him. Haesten: Yeah... Look... I've done this before? Why don't you go get your ass kicked- I mean have the honor of going to kill him. I'll wait here.

[nature-played-a-trick-on-me]

Also i feel bad for Uthred in this book like first his eldest son becomes a priest which is probably one of the worst things that he could think of. And he goes to try and stop them but he's too late and then he accidentally gets in a fight and gets people killed. When he comes back home he finds his hall burnt and Sigunn taken, his buddy priest maimed because supposedly Uthred's taken Cnut's family. And then Haesten is there too. And when he returns home again the rest of his property is burnt by people angry at his accidentally killing and he just loses everything in the span of a few days.

[lord-aldhelm]

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

[ivarthebadbitch]

People talking about everybody favorite topic in tlk: Uhtred

(requested by anonymous)

bonus:

[freddie-foxs]

The Coccham Company

Imagine: The Last Kingdom in a modern AU, in which the characters (not all of them) form a theatre company.

Introducing to you, wonderful people of tumblr:

And now, presenting, the members:

Each member has a something that they are known for:

Finan plays the playboys. Otherwise, everyone else keeps trying to set him up with Eadith. (It hasn't worked yet)

Sigtryggr and Stiorra are almost always cast as the lovers. It used to be Uhtred and Gisela who were the lovers, but Gisela sadly died. She is still kept on the official Coccham Company material, and everything Uhtred is in, he dedicates to her.

Beocca tends to be the old, wise man.

Ragnar is always composing/dealing with the music. He often directs their musicals

Aelflaed designs the costumes, while Haesten does the sets

Rognvaldr is usually the fool or the drunkard, sometimes joined by Finan and/or Sihtric

Hild is the Stage Manager, making sure everyone is where they need to be at the right time. She is joined by Osferth, and sometimes Young Uhtred.

There's more, but I haven't thought of them yet

There. The company has been introduced. On behalf of the Coccham company, I welcome you to their performance of Romeo & Juliet.

If you want to see another play from the Coccham Company, drop an ask. The more detail you add, the easier this is.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Captive Part 1

Sihtric x OC

Authors note: This is my first ever try in writing fics. I am totally hooked by the character of Sihtric from TLK, so I just couldn't resist. English is my fourth language, so please bear with me.

Summary: Sihtric is sent to Heasten’s camp to spy and discovers the Danes have a captive – young Saxon girl he just can’t leave to her fate.

Word Count: 2,449

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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

Sihtric moved stealthily through the dense forest, his senses on high alert. Haesten’s camp was near, he could already hear distant murmur of voices. The scouts had told Uthred that there must be some five hundred warriors in the camp. The first time they reported on the camp was a week ago and since then the Danes hadn’t moved on. It was weird. What was Haesten doing here, if he were supposed to be marching to Lundene to join Ragnalls forces?

“Sihtric, you are the only one Haesten hasn’t met. He will not recognise you as my man,” Uhtred had said last night. “I want to know where they are going and why they are here.”

Sihtric crouched through the darkness with utmost caution, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. Carefully, Sihtric studied the layout of the camp, searching for a gap in the sentries' coverage. After a while he noticed a cluster of tents placed at the very edge of the camp, too close to the trees, casting deep shadows that could provide him with the cover he needed. He crept silently, his figure blending seamlessly into the darkness.

Using the tents as a shield, Sihtric manoeuvred past the sentries, oblivious to his presence. Each step was calculated, his movements a delicate dance of agility and precision. The adrenaline surged through his veins, heightening his senses, and sharpening his focus.

Once safely within the camp's boundaries, Sihtric sought out a nearby campfire, its flickering flames casting glow on the faces of the warriors gathered around it. He spotted a sturdy warrior with his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. Sihtric approached, his voice carrying a sense of familiarity.

"Cnut!" Sihtric called out, his tone projecting a mix of excitement and recognition.

Startled, the warrior turned towards Sihtric, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Do I know you?"

Sihtric's heart raced. Gathering his composure, he quickly responded, "Apologies, friend. I mistook you for my cousin Cnut. My mistake."

Warrior’s suspicion softened, replaced by curiosity. Gesturing towards the campfire, he invited Sihtric to join them. "No harm done. I am Sigurd. Sit, warm yourself by the fire. And you are?"

“I am Erik. Erik Ragnarsson,” Sihtric answered giving the first name that came into his mind and accepted the offer, positioning himself beside the warrior he had chosen to engage in conversation.

Sihtric cleared his throat and leaned in slightly, adopting an air of frustration. "We've been stuck in this camp for a whole week now. It's becoming rather tedious. We've been waiting for something to happen, but nothing seems to be going on. "

The warrior regarded him with a mix of sympathy and amusement. " I can understand your frustration, my friend. It's not easy to be stuck in one place, waiting for something to happen. But it won’t be long anymore. The ransom will soon be underway."

Sihtric's heart skipped a beat. He had stumbled upon a piece of vital information. “So, there is a prisoner in the camp,” Sihtric thought to himself. He raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "Is it? That’s good news! I already started to think there will be no ransom at the end and we are just wasting our time.”

Sigurd glanced at him, his expression guarded. "The negotiations are near completion. It could be a matter of days, perhaps even less."

Sihtric nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. This of course explained why Haesten was lingering in the woods. The prisoner was supposed to be somebody of a great value and importance if it was worth to wait for the ransom instead of marching to Lundene. He needed to find out more although it was clear that each minute, he stayed in the camp increased the possibility of being recognised as not belonging here. Sihtric searched for a way to come up with a believable excuse to retrieve himself from the fire. Before he could come up with something, Sigurd, sensing the restlessness in Sihtric's demeanor, began to speak again.

"You know, " he said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "That bitch is quite the beauty."

Sihtric's almost chocked with astonishment, his interest piqued. He masked his surprise and leaned closer, feigning casual curiosity. "Is that so? Tell me more."

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Sigurd’s lips. "She is the daughter of Ethelred the most powerful ealdorman of Mercia. He'll pay a hefty price for her safe return." Sigurd was unwittingly revealing crucial pieces of information, Sihtric did not even dare to ask in order not to provoke unnecessary suspicions.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt – the tents he used as a cover to enter the camp. The captive girl must be held there, that’s why they were set apart from the others. Sihtric's mind whirled with a mix of concern and determination, he rose from his seat, yawned, and stretched himself.

“I’ll be going to have some sleep. I bet I will be sent hunting at dawn again. If we stay here longer, soon there will be no pray left in these woods,” with a parting nod, he excused himself from the fire and started to walk towards the middle of the camp. Sihtric's mind raced with plans, weighing the risks, and assessing the best course of action. On one hand, the opportunity to locate the captive girl and assess her condition was tempting. On the other hand, the urgency to pass the valuable information he had gathered to Uhtred loomed large in his mind.

“This is madness, don’t even think about it,” he chided himself, “You can’t rescue her now. Uhtreds camp is at least a two day’s walk from here. They will discover her missing in the morning and will chase you both. She will slow you down and you will stand no chance against the pursuers.”

With a resolute determination, Sihtric made up his mind and turned ready to disappear into the night. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse for not directly intervening in the girl's plight, but there was nothing he could do about her right now.

Sihtric stopped as something caught his attention. A faint whimpering sound came from the larger tent and stirred a mixture of concern and curiosity in him. The girl's cries tugged at his mind. A distant memory came to him. He was just a fourteen-year-old lad at his father’s fortress in Dunholm. He had a friend – a girl of the same age as him, a kitchen slave. They used to hide themselves in the old unused stables and share leftovers she would bring from the kitchen. That one evening he had hidden himself to escape the beating for forgetting to tend to his brothers Sven’s horse. He remembered the whimpering sound coming from the small house near the stables. He casted a glimpse through the window and saw the girl curled on the bed and crying. She was terrified with her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes fixed on the man standing before her and undoing his breeches. Sihtric remembered the feeling of being helpless. He wanted to do something, anything… to distract the man, to call for help. But what help… Who would care of a warrior raping a kitchen slave. He risked of being whipped and laughed at. He was useless and helpless, and he could do nothing to help her. And so, he did nothing, he crouched back in the corner of the stables and then just ran away. He never saw the girl again. He waited for her the next day in their favourite hiding place, but she never came. He looked for her in the kitchen, but she was not there anymore and when he asked the other slaves nobody could tell him anything about her.

Sihtric shook his head as if trying to drive away the sudden memory, but he already knew that there was no way he could leave this girl in the camp and run away again. He headed towards the tent the sound came from. Sigurd and the other warriors that were obviously supposed to guard the tent were still sitting at the fireplace and talking. Sihtric cautiously approached the tent, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and concern. Carefully parting the tent side flaps, he entered the dimly lit space and his eyes fell upon the young Saxon girl sitting on the floor in the corner, tears running down her cheeks. The soft glow of a few candles illuminated her delicate features. Her eyes, vibrant and full of strange mix of resilience, strength and fear, met his gaze. Her hands were tied together in front of her. For a moment, Sihtric was struck speechless, his breath caught in his throat. Her beauty was breath-taking, captivating him in a way he had never experienced before. It was as if time stood still, the world around them fading into insignificance.

Her dark locks cascaded around her shoulders, framing a face that held both innocence and strength. Her skin, smooth and flawless, seemed to radiate with a gentle warmth. Sihtric found himself drawn to every subtle curve and contour, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her form.

But as much as her physical beauty enraptured him, it was her spirit that truly captivated his heart. There was a fire within her, a spark of defiance that burned brightly in her eyes. Regaining his composure, Sihtric stepped forward, "Stay calm," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm not your enemy. I have come to bring you to safety," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and determination.

Sihtric's heart sank as he noticed the flicker of fear and doubt in the captive girl's eyes. He understood her hesitance. Gently, Sihtric reached out a hand, his voice filled with sincerity. "I understand you don’t believe me. But I give you my word, I am not here to harm you. I am here to offer you a chance at freedom, to return you to your people, and ensure your safety."

The girl's gaze wavered, torn between the hope of liberation and the fear of betrayal. Her voice quivered with uncertainty as she spoke, her vulnerability laid bare. "You are a Dane. Why would I trust you? How do I know you're not like the others, playing tricks and false promises?"

Sihtric's eyes met hers, his voice steady and earnest. "I cannot erase the pain you've endured, nor can I erase the actions of those who have wronged you. But I offer you my loyalty, and my commitment to bring you to safety. Have you heard of Lord Uhtred?" The surprise on the girl's face was evident when she heard the name of Uhtred, but she nodded.

“I am Sihtric and I am lord Uhtred’s man. He sent me to spy on the Danes. I did not know you were here, but now that I do, I will not leave you,” Sihtric kept looking in the girls’ eyes, hoping his earnest answers will reassure her.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, his voice filled with empathy. "I understand your hesitation, but I ask you to trust in the sincerity of my words. I am not here to deceive you." He pulled out his hunting knife fastened on his back and saw the girls’ eyes widen in sudden urge of fear. She was evidently about to scream, so he had to be quick. He leaped to her and pushed his free hand on her mouth, silencing her and slit the rope freeing her hands.  

The girl's gaze softened, her guarded expression slowly giving way to a glimmer of hope. She searched his eyes for any sign of deception, her vulnerability cautiously extending towards him.

"Promise me, you will not scream," he whispered in her ear. “If you do, we are both doomed.”

The girl nodded and Sihtric took his hand from her lips.

“Promise me, “her voice laced with a fragile mixture of fear and longing. "Promise me that you will protect me, that you will not lead me into further harm."

Sihtric's voice held unwavering conviction as he made his pledge. "I swear on my life that I will protect you, that I will do everything within my power to keep you safe. "

A flicker of trust kindled within the girl's eyes, a glint of belief in the possibility of an escape. Sihtric stepped back and extended his hand and saw the faintest touch of a smile gracing her lips. Hesitantly she reached out, her fingers intertwining with his and Sihtric helped her to her feet. In that moment, an unspoken connection formed between them, a silent promise of protection and liberation. It was a fragile bond and Sihtric couldn’t help himself but to awe at the girl’s courage to accept and believe in his promise.

Sihtric smiled reassuringly and took her hand firmly in his, determined to show her that his words were not empty promises but a genuine commitment. He pushed up the back wall of the tent and together, they crouched out. It took just a few steps to reach the nearby trees, so Sihtric guided the captive girl towards them, their movements silent and purposeful. Every step was measured, his senses attuned to any potential danger that lurked in the surrounding darkness. Sihtric looked at the girl beside him and knew that both her beauty and courage had stirred his soul in a way no one has ever managed before.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, Sihtric maintained a careful pace, mindful of the girl's endurance and the need to remain undetected. The trees provided them with cover, their branches reaching out like protective arms, shielding them from prying eyes. The captive girl followed Sihtric's lead, her steps hesitant at first, but growing more assured with each passing moment.

Sihtric's senses remained alert, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of pursuit or danger. He knew that they were not yet out of harm's way, that the Danes could discover their escape at any moment. He stole a glance at the girl walking beside him. Her face, though still marked by traces of fear, now held a glimmer of hope and determination.

"I promise you, we are making progress," Sihtric whispered, his voice carrying reassurance. "We are leaving that camp behind, and soon you will be free." The girl's eyes met his, gratitude and vulnerability intertwined within her gaze. She nodded silently. As they ventured further into the forest, the girl's grip on his hand tightened. It was a silent plea for reassurance and Sihtric squeezed her hand in response, silently vowing to protect her.