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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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We Have This Hope - III

Osferth x Lady-in-Waiting

[Masterlist]

Story Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mentions of Violence, Strong Language, Religious Guilt, Smut

Notes: Barely proofed. Will do later. Hope you enjoy my loves. H x

Aefry and Osferth’s mutual fascination continued over the week and, much to Aefry’s delight, she was provided with plenty of chances to see him, for wherever Aethelflaed went, Uhtred seemed to follow. What’s more, wherever Aethelflaed and Uhtred went, so too did her ladies and his band of warriors.

Following their fleeting meeting after mass, Aefry had glimpsed Osferth on her way back from the meadows just beyond the keep’s edge. She’d spent the day there with her book of psalms and her pages of drawings. Butterflies, plants, the skies above her and the ripple of the Itchen river. Wrapped in a shawl and sat beneath the old oak that guarded the grassland, Aefry was content to draw, read and daydream. Of her parents, of life beyond the keep, of warriors, of the boy with rough-shorn hair and worried eyes…

The day was drawing in when she made her way back to the warmth of the keep, the grey sky purpling as the sun descended below the trees. A brisk coolness settled on her cheeks, and she felt them turn red. These transitory days of autumn, like those of spring, brought a promise of something on the horizon that only the birds above them could see. In a life so still and, though she was grateful of her position, monotonous, Aefry found the quiet adventure in them thrilling. She thrilled too when, against the darkening sky, a white horse gleamed. Walking slowly, it’s head bobbing with each step, it looked like a spectre. Her cheeks burned all the hotter when she saw the man leading the horse to the stables.

Head downcast like that of his steed, he too seemed aglow in the twilight. Pale skin smooth as clay, his breath taking flight against the cold air. With his shoulders slumped, Aefry saw not the shy yet brave warrior monk she had become so intrigued by those last days, but a boy. Somehow, despite his quiet courage, he seemed defeated. Not once had he looked up to see his progress towards the stable, glancing only at his feet as they shuffled across the hard earth. He was missing the gentle sunset, had not stopped to look in the direction of the blackbird singing in the hedgerow, not noticed how she stood at the edge of the field, watching. She had to know what troubled him. Spurred on by that desire, any decorum left Aefry as she hurried forward.

At the rustle of leaves underfoot nearby, Osferth glanced up. Catching each other’s eyes, they both abruptly stood still. Osferth, hand at his sword, gawked at her. Aefry wobbled on the spot, having been caught rushing towards him. The white horse huffed and a great cloud of its breath rose into the sky.

The look that lingered between them was a second longer than proper, and Aefry became once more a young lady of propriety. Smiling gently, she moved slowly towards Osferth. He glanced quickly at the white horse, patting its thick neck as if finding something to do. Not even Uhtred or the King stirred this much nervousness in him.

“Forgive me, Sir-”

“Osferth,” he corrected. Aefry was relieved to see a small smile curve his lips.

“Osferth,” she whispered his name. To say it aloud, with no title, seemed indecent. “I am on my way back to my mistress, but when I saw you-” Aefry teetered on the precipice of this confession. Did it reveal too much? “Forgive me. I thought you looked sad.”

Osferth looked straight at her then, and the hand that rubbed the horse’s neck fell to his side. “Not sad, my Lady, just defeated.”

“Defeated?” She took a step closer to him, eager to know what caused the good man’s disappointment.

Osferth saw the worried crease of her brow and hurried to reassure her.

“Finan, he has been teaching me to spar. ‘Properly,’ he says.” It was as though the moon had risen early. All at once, Aefry saw the purple blooming under his eyes and the small grazes to his cheeks. When he held out his hands, dropping the reins of his horse to reveal the smattering of bruises across his knuckles, she gasped and took hold of them.

How intoxicating it was, this woman’s worry for him. Excitement, rapidly followed by shame, overcame Osferth and with all the effort he could muster he took his hands back from her. How wanton, to crave more of it.

“Wait, please,” Aefry said, turning in the direction she arrived from. Osferth watched her reach the edge of the meadow and crouch by a green mat of vegetation. In the low light, it was as if watching someone ascend from deep water. As she walked back to him, a handful of green clutched in her hand, she slowly came back into focus. Osferth shuffled from foot to foot and swallowed, looking quickly back to the horse. Blinking quickly, he saw the outline of her inside his eyelids. The ripple of her long hair, the sturdy footsteps towards him, her silhouette growing ever closer as her hips swayed side to side beneath the modest tunic she wore. He knew at once he would recount the image of her walking slowly towards him in the twilight. That night, in all likelihood. Osferth blushed and bowed his head. His boots were caked in mud, no doubt his tunic torn and much the same. He flattened the hair on his forehead and, shame yet again welling up inside him, hastily dropped his arm.

“I acknowledge my sin to you, and hide not my inequity-”

“Pardon?” Aefry had begun tearing the leaves in her hand as she stopped before Osferth.

“I-er, she is-she is restless,” Osferth gestured to the horse.

Even with his head bowed, his body stooping to appear small, he towered over her. Aefry came eye level with his leather cuirass, and the cross the rested there. A good man indeed. Funny, Aefry thought, that she found the holy men of the keep so pious they bordered on arrogance, boring to the point of inertia, or else more sinful than those they preached to. Power, she supposed, was the currency of man, and there was plenty for those who had taken holy orders under the command of the King. In Osferth, however, the presence of the cross at his chest calmed her, for she had seen the truth that he was a good man. Ruled not by power, but by his kindness and conscience. A true man of God. He was still shuffling uncomfortably at her side.

“Well then,” Aefry said with a gentle smile. “We best get you both inside.” Her twinkling eyes met his and Osferth’s heart drummed unsteadily in his chest. She turned on her heel and made her way towards the stables. With the click of his teeth, Osferth and his steed followed eagerly in her wake.

The closer they drew to the dimly lit stable, the clearer the voices within it became. That is to say, one voice. The two men inside barely noticed as Aefry pushed open the door and slipped inside. Instead, it was the sound of horse hooves on the dampened ground that told the men they were no longer alone.

“Hurt your bollocks as well as the rest of your body?” Finan said to Osferth, indicating the horse he hadn’t ridden and laughing heartily. Sihtric smirked but continued brushing the dark horse he rode. Beside them, Aefry appeared from a small stall with a bowl of water.

“Fuck!” Finan jumped back at the small woman’s seemingly sudden arrival.

Blushing at the language, Aefry laughed. “Perhaps, Osferth, you should take sparring lessons from me. He may be the brute but I clearly have the cunning.” She playfully nudged Finan’s shoulder and found he didn’t budge. It made her giggle all the more and the three men stared at her. Sihtric in question, Osferth in amazement and Finan in mirthful admiration. Unaware, Aefry continued tearing the plant in her hand and adding it to the bowl.

“What have you there?” Sihtric’s voice was quiet.

“Yarrow,” Aefry offered him one of the flowering stems. “It helps to soothe swelling.” She watched as Sihtric turned the flower between his fingers. Despite his height, his fearsome, bicolour gaze and endless stoicism, there was gentleness to this man she was certain many overlooked. To all of them. Whereas it was plain in Osferth, behind the tough exteriors of Sihtric and Finan lay good-hearted souls. Sihtric with his childlike wonder, Finan with his easy humour. Uhtred too possessed a tenderness, if the way he looked at Aethelflaed was anything to judge.

Silence, but for the huffing and shuffling of the horses, settled about the stable. Aefry worked the yarrow and water into a paste, unaware of the silent exchange occurring above her head.

Osferth, still shy around his adoptive comrades and overcome with an emotion entirely foreign to him in the presence of Aefry, looked everywhere in the stable but her. Occasionally, as he glanced between the ceiling’s beams or the hay-strewn floor, he caught either Finan or Sihtric’s eyes. Sihtric, in his usual way, fixed him with a knowing stare somewhere between teasing and curiosity. Each time Osferth caught Finan’s eye, however, he entered into a silent battle with the Gael.

Finan indicated Aefry with his head, encouraging Osferth to step closer, or else would mouth instructions. “Talk to her!” “Say something!”. Once or twice, he even caught Finan making lewd gestures. When the Gael balled his fist before his crotch, Osferth’s eyes widened and he darted into one of the stalls. In doing so he brushed against Aefry’s shoulder, and the warmth he felt beneath her shawl sent a surge of lightning through him.

Flustered by the commotion of his own sudden movement, Osferth almost lost track of where he was and what he was doing. He span around. “I’m sorry, my Lady-” Osferth’s voice died. Aefry was watching him with a smile. No annoyance at his carelessness, worry no longer knitting her brow. Simply smiling at him.

Though bolder than he was, Osferth had noticed in his few meetings with the lady-in-waiting, of which this was the third, that, like him, Aefry was content with silence. He wished then that he had the courage for idle chatter. This lingering silence was torturous. The more she looked at him, and the more he looked at her, the more likely it seemed to him that heaven truly was real and not just a tool to frighten men into subjection.

“Let me see your hand again,” Behind Aefry, Finan walked past the stall and winked. Osferth didn’t move, and so Aefry came to him. Mistaking his infatuation for his earlier disappointment, she reached out and took his hand. Osferth almost whimpered. He bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself and released a ragged breath through his nose.

“I’m sorry, but the yarrow will help.”

Osferth let out a shaky laugh at her unknowing sweetness. “‘Tis fine.” When she began massaging the yarrow into his knuckles, Osferth held his breath, for never before could he remember being touched with such gentleness.

He barely remembered his mother. Sometimes, he thought of her running her hand over his head, but was unsure if this was a memory or merely something his mind had conjured up in the absence of her. When he entered the monastery, it was with the clap of his uncle Leofric’s hand at his back and a promise that he would always be near.

In their memory, Osferth touched the cross at his chest. Aefry’s eyes flickered there but she asked no questions, and began rolling a torn piece of cloth about his hand.

Behind the walls of the monastery, Osferth knew nothing but prayer and penance.

The blond hair his mother had allowed to grow long was roughly shorn, his clothes were replaced with itchy hand-me-down robes, and despite having lived so meagrely before, he would have given anything to sleep on the hay mattress of his uncle Leofric’s rather than the wooden board and blanket of his shared quarters.

That first room he shared with two other boys, Arric and Hablendan. He did not need to ask why they were sent to the monastery. The abbots looked at the three boys with an obvious disdain that they did not show the other novitiates. They were woken between matins and prime, then set to work preparing breakfast for the sleeping monastery. After a long day of work and prayer, Osferth and his companions would say compline, or vigil before Sunnundaeg, and await the abbot to permiss them sleep, long after everyone else had retired.

Bastards. Shame of father and family. That was why.

“A stain upon the good King’s virtue.”

“Nothing but a whore’s shame.”

“It would have been far better if you had never been born.”

When Hablendan succumbed to a fever aged eleven, the penitential psalms were hurried, his anointing near forgot, and the abbots slung him in a haphazard grave beyond the monastery wall. Only Osferth and Aerric kept vigil.

Arric left the monastery suddenly, and from time to time Osferth imagined he had run away with a tradesman or visiting abbess. That way he could believe a life beyond that harsh place existed. A monastery in a warmer climate perhaps, or a new life altogether.

“Osferth?”

So tender was her voice that Osferth thought he’d imagined it. The voice of Hablendan or Arric. Perhaps even his uncle or mother.

He blinked in the dim light, and felt a warmth about his hands. She had taken both in her own, and held them gently before her. Her eyes, a muddy mixture of browns, were looking up at him with concern.

“‘Tis fine,” he said again, although the lump in his throat betrayed any attempt at ease. Aefry nodded, held his hand a moment longer, then let go. Osferth twitched awkwardly before coughing and clearing the stall to make way for his horse. That he had been about to take her hand once more, Aefry did not know.

“Will your mistress not worry where you are?” Sihtric was heaving his horse’s saddle onto one of the stable beams.

“If Lord Uhtred is with her, I doubt it entirely,” Aefry said with a smile. “Her mother, however-” The men laughed. “I am away. Remove the dressing in the morning and the swelling should have gone down,” she addressed Osferth. “If not, seek me out and I will gather more.”

“He surely will,” Finan stepped forward with yet another gleeful glance in Osferth’s direction as he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

Osferth’s heart sank. He had not known Finan long, but it was enough to see the long looks women gave him. Wit, kindness, honour, strength. How could he possibly compete? Aefry and Finan were backing out of the door when Sihtric nudged Osferth’s shoulder and nodded in their direction. Aefry was looking hopefully at him over Finan’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Osferth, goodnight Sir,” Sihtric nodded his head at Aefry. Osferth bowed a little.

“Come,” Sihtric said to him. “You have more to learn than swordsmanship.” And together they trudged towards the inn on the outskirts of town, Osferth hanging off his every word.

In the opposite direction, Finan and Aefry walked in comfortable silence. The sun had set fully and torches flickered at the welcoming gates of the keep. In a few moments, they would be sheltered in its warmth. Aefry’s stomach gave a rumble and she laughed.

“Thank you, Sir, for walking me back,” Finan smiled and Aefry continued. “Though, and I do not mean to offend, I suspect it was not for my safety.” Expecting to see annoyance in her eyes, Finan looked at her. To his pleasant surprise, he saw her eyes twinkle in the low light. A broad smile stretched across his bonny face. “I do believe Saeflaed will have returned from her father’s by now.”

“I would not have let you walk back alone, lady-”

“Aefry.” She corrected, holding a hand to her chest. He copied the movement.

“Finan.” Aefry nodded and Finan continued. “But a glimpse of her would not go amiss.”

Aefry’s smile widened. Finan had thought her a meek little thing at first, smaller than her companions, not so pretty as Saeflaed or outspoken as Adburh. But he saw now that he was wrong. Behind the round cheeks and rosy complexion, pleasing manner and quiet reserve, a brightness burned within her. Quick to help and to laugh just as he. The youngest of Aethelflaed’s ladies, he thought perhaps, despite Saeflaed’s beauty, that Aefry was his favourite.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Aefry said, her voice full of that longing awe one heard in a girl recalling a princess, or a little boy dreaming of the battlefield.

“I’ve never seen a fairer lass,”

“And here she is,” she indicated the keep gates, where a golden haired girl stood waiting. Aefry turned to Finan, a knowing glint in her eye. “Almost as if this meeting were planned.”

“Not a word to your mistress of Uhtred,” Finan held her arm gently.

Aefry held a finger to her lips as she slipped away, and Finan watched as she clasped Saeflaed’s hand before disappearing through the gate.

Over the next few days, the three men and three women followed their leaders like a gaggle of children.

Having told Aefry how much she liked the man, Saeflaed either clung to her arm or Finan’s, whispering hurried observations in the former’s ear, flirtations in the latter’s.

“His wit is as sharp as his sword!”

“There’s something about his eyes,”

“I watched him train the monk,” Aefry’s ears pricked. “His arms, Aefry!”

Poor Adburh was quite taken as ever by the silent Sihtric, but the discovery of his wife had left her quite bereft.

“Many a man takes a mistress, Adburh,” Saeflaed had said.

“I’ll not be a man’s whore,” Adburh snapped from beneath her bedsheets.

“Not even a man so beautiful?”

Adburh sniffled and Aefry silenced her friend with a quick glance.

When next they saw Uhtred and his men, all walking the halls and corridors of the keep as he spoke to Aethelflaed in hushed tones, Aefry was forced to abandon her position by the monk to remind Adburh that she was at court. At once, the red-headed girl’s shoulders straightened, the crease of her forehead vanished and her steps became lighter.

“He is a handsome man, ‘tis true,” Aefry whispered to Adburh. “But not the man for you, my friend.” Adburh’s face soured at once and she made to protest. Aefry didn’t allow it. “Aside from his marital status, he is far too quiet and serious. Imagine the household you would run together! You, fearsome and outspoken. He, fearsome and silent. That poor man would not stand a chance.” Adburh laughed sadly and linked her arm through Aefry’s. Together, they processed behind the others.

Uhtred and Aethelflaed were a way ahead now. Uhtred too, seemed equally bewitched by Aethelflaed as Adburh was with Sihtric, and Aefry was glad to see a man bestow her mistress some compassion. The image of a gentleman in her presence, Uhtred listened to Aethelflaed’s words as though she were bestowing upon him a prophecy. He walked half a step behind her at all times, and always, his gaze was directed toward her.

Finan and Saeflaed, still holding his arm, were a few paces behind them with Sihtric. Aefry giggled as Saeflaed’s golden curls bounced animatedly as she spoke to him, and Finan looked over his shoulder at the noise and winked.

Osferth saw him do so and glanced to where Aefry and Adburh walked. The moment he looked at her, Aefry’s steps faltered.

“Are you alright?” It was Adburh who sounded concerned now.

“Yes. Yes, fine,” Aefry resumed her steps and looked to Osferth. He had turned back to face the front. Let him look round again, please. The strange sensation that had made its home in Aefry’s chest ever since she met the monk stirred, and she gulped a few times to steady her breath.

“Are you sure?”

“Adburh,” Aefry lay a hand atop her friends. “Believe me when I say, I am fine.” Adburh eyed her suspiciously but they continued ahead.

Osferth walked alone between the groups, hands clasped behind his back. As people passed them in the corridors, going about their business, Aefry found a new appreciation for his height. She had seen few men so tall. He was taller than Finan, that was certain. Now, she saw he was taller than Uhtred and much the same height as Sihtric. She thought of the three warriors and their broad backs, and her mind wandered to what lay beneath Osferth’s robes. Whether he would become as muscled as them as he continued his training-

I’m sorry. Let him look at me, and I’ll spend Sunnandaeg in the chapel.

Aefry did not know precisely what it was that she longed to see, but when Osferth turned to look at her again, his mellow eyes brightening when he saw her already watching him, she felt a small part of her desire to be seen by him sated.

“Aefry, your cheeks are flushed. Are you certain-”

“Adburh!” Aefry dropped her friend’s arm in annoyance and took a few rushed steps forward before realising where she was; a step or so behind Osferth. When Adburh stomped past them, her temper flaring, Osferth startled and gazed back. Upon seeing Aefry so close, he startled again but smiled all the same.

“Her fires are burning rather hot today,” Aefry mumbled, giving Osferth a small curtsy.

“Is everything well?” said Osferth as he watched Adburh storm ahead.

“She had some bad news,” Aefry wouldn’t betray Adburh’s feelings, no matter her annoyance.

Osferth hummed and waited for Aefry to fall into step beside him. Unlike that which she had shared with Finan, Aefry could not say their silence was comfortable. On the contrary, both seemed strained to think of something to say and altogether uneasy.

“The yarrow worked-”

“How is your practice-”

Both spoke together, blushed and allowed the quiet to resume. After a moment, Aefry took Osferth’s hand. Perhaps it was an excuse just to touch him, but she brought his knuckles to the light of a passing window and examined his bruises. The yarrow had worked indeed, for she could make out the bone and blue veins of his hands. His hands. How small hers suddenly felt underneath his. When she looked up at him, she saw he was still staring down at their entwined hands.

“Do you need anything more of me?” she whispered.

Osferth’s eyes flickered to hers. “Lady, I-”

“Come on, Osferth!”

Finan’s voice boomed down the corridor and Aefry stepped quickly away from Osferth. Onward they walked.

“That is much like how he speaks to me when teaching,” Osferth said lowly and Aefry laughed. “But he is kind do it, and a good man.”

“That he is.”

Osferth watched her from the corner of his eye. She smiled as she looked in Finan’s direction and he tried to quell his jealousy. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he whispered.

Ahead, Uhtred and Aethelflaed had stopped outside a large cabinet of rooms at the fore of the keep, and Aefry, distracted on their journey there, noticed at once that it was the study of the King. She quickened her steps, leaving Osferth’s side, to stand behind her mistress. It would not do for Lady Aelswith to see her at the side of one of Uhtred’s men and not her daughter.

No sooner had she, Saeflaed and Adburh settled behind Aethelflaed did the door to the cabinet open. Father Beocca stepped out and grasped Uhtred’s hand. A moment after, the King entered the corridor and all in his presence bowed their heads. Aethelflaed kissed his cheek.

“You are ready?” He said to his daughter and Uhtred, to which they nodded and entered his private chambers with Beocca. As Aefry bowed once more, she noticed the King’s intelligent eyes carry over Finan and Sihtric, before flicking to the man stood still in the corridor.

Subtly, so imperceptibly, Aefry saw Alfred falter. From her reverent position, she looked sideways through the veil of her hair.

Osferth was looking pointedly at the ground, his shoulders a little stooped, his head a little bowed.

When the King turned away, Osferth looked up and saw that Aefry was watching him again. With a sad smile and nod of his head, he retraced his steps, away from his fellows, and out of sight. A haunting sadness had returned to his eyes, and Aefry thought of little else all evening.

Early one morning under the guise of prayer, Aethelflaed brought her ladies-in-waiting to the town chapel so she may share some secret with Uhtred before he and his men left for the north.

Finan and Sihtric were stood at the door, happily talking when they arrived. They bowed to Aethelflaed as she passed, sharing a knowing look, and greeted the ladies. Saeflaed placed herself by Finan and leant gaily against the stone wall so that her hip jutted just so. Adburh, too, stood scandalously close to Sihtric. He said nothing. Aefry did not worry about Osferth’s own whereabouts, for she knew he would be inside.

Sure enough, when she pushed open the chapel’s great doors, daylight streaked into the chamber and set him aglow. Sat on a simple wooden bench at the back of the chapel, his head was bent in prayer. Like a moth to a flame, she drifted towards him, sitting carefully beside him as he prayed.

The creaking of the wood gave her away, and Osferth opened one eye. When he saw her sat beside him, he smiled and relaxed in his seat. Together, the monk and the young lady sat in contended silence at the back of the chapel. After a while he looked at her fully and saw the happiness on her face.

“What has you smiling, my Lady?” Osferth whispered in her ear as they sat side by side. Aefry looked up at him. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head bowed slightly to hear her answer. Wherever he went, he always looked in prayer, and she wondered if it was the same on the battlefield. If he fought with as much grace as he did everything else.

“Those two,” she indicated Uhtred and Aethelflaed with her eyes. “It is good to see her smile again.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her face glow with tenderness. It seemed her permanent state. On occasion, he had seen her about the keep with Aethelflaed and her other companions. Where Adburh and Saeflaed seemed suited to keeping the princess jovial, the lady beside him must have been picked as a companion for her quiet sincerity. When Aethelflaed fell into clouds of despair, it was Aefry she went to to lift her spirits.

When Osferth stumbled upon Aefry in the town, or sat in the meadow beyond the keep, she moved with serenity, like river buttercup in a stream. It struck him that she was prayer incarnate; contemplative, curious, calm.

When tending to the horses, he watched her in the meadow. She gathered flowers, read beneath the oak tree, or when not alone, talked spiritedly with her companions. Just as fascinated as she was with the monk, he too was with the lady-in-waiting.

“Though she doesn’t show it, not to Lord Uhtred, she is sad.” The monk titled his head towards her as she spoke. “You are away tomorrow, are you not?”

He nodded, eyes scanning hers. Would she be sad when he left? As Aethelflaed was for Uhtred?

“Take care, Just Osferth,” she smiled. His mouth twitched at the corners, and she knew he wanted to smile. “What?”

“My lady, do you think perhaps you could simply call me Osferth? The others have given me their own name, I should like to hear mine just plainly.”

The lady’s eyes lit with mirth. “What do the others call you?”

He sighed and looked at the cross atop the alter, as if pleading for help. “‘Baby monk.’” He whispered it in her ear like he was at confession, and she would have shuddered were it not for the ridiculousness of the name. She sniggered and the monk pinched his nose.

“Are you a monk anymore?” She had turned to him slightly, though she still glanced at her mistress every now and again. “Now that you are in Uhtred’s company?”

He thought a moment and watched his hands. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

She took his hand in hers and faced him directly.

“You are Osferth.”

“That I am.” There it was again. Pride. Looking at her pretty face, open with kindness and judging of nothing as she watched him, Osferth felt that whatever he had been, or would be, was fine because she saw him. She.

“What do you think life would have held for you? Had you the choice?” Aefry knew the question was intimate, and should he rebuke her, she would understand. To her happiness, he did not.

“I do not think it matters, lady.” Visions of himself as a prince, or an ealdorman with wife and child flashed before his eyes. “My lot was chosen long before I was born.” Aefry knew he was thinking of his father’s actions but said nothing, only let him continue. “With another mother, another father, in a different realm perhaps my life would have been different, but it does not do to dwell. I am thankful for what I have been given.”

He watched her side, for she had turned to face Uhtred and Aethelflaed solemnly. Her lips parted delicately, plainly thinking over what he had said. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from the braid knotted at her nape, revealing the pulse point on the elegant column of her neck. Osferth was struck with the desire to run his finger along it and the britches beneath his tunic tightened. He shifted on the hard pew. Damn. Faintly, as though listening through water, he heard her say something similar to “we should leave them be.” He looked up to see Uhtred and Aethelflaed departing through the door behind the chancel.

“Will you pray with me?”

Her hand was still in his and she squeezed it before clasping her own in prayer. “Of course.”

Aefry knelt before him and he swallowed, shifting his hands beneath his tunic before kneeling beside her. Osferth wasn’t sure how long they prayed. Or rather, how long she prayed and he tried to. Her devoted mutterings and deeps sighs of breath were beautifully distracting, so he settled on watching her pray instead.

She leant her head on her hands, as though this would open a direct channel to help her commune with the divine. She glanced up on occasion, to gaze at the altar, before casting her eyes down. When she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek between devotions, he found he could take it no more and moved towards the offertory shrine next to the tabernacle. He hadn’t seen someone so moved by prayer since the monastery, and even then he believed the abbot did it to scare the oblates into servitude.

He took a candle and, placing it next to its fellows, lit it with a taper. Closing his eyes with the flame in hand, a moment’s solace finally found him, and he prayed for that which he always could. When he opened them, she was there beside him, placing her own candle upon the shrine having silently finished her prayers. As if in slow motion, he watched as she covered his hand with hers and moved the taper he still held to the wick. The candle flickered into life, and she let go.

“Who did you light your candle for?” she whispered, watching the flames dance together.

“My mother.”

“I lit mine for you. I want to see you safely back in Wintancaester.” Sadness befell Aefry’s eyes and Osferth said the only thing he could think that would ease her unhappiness.

“I shall try, my lady.”

She nodded. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

His lips parted with barely supressed awe. “Psalm ninety-one.”

Aefry nodded again. “The psalms are my favourites.”

“My lips praise you, because your faithful love is better than life itself.” Osferth whispered, his eyes intent on hers.

“Psalm sixty-three.”

“Yes,” Each time he was near her, his voice floundered. It seemed it was not just he who struggled. The light of the chapel cast Osferth in a soft glow and his eyes, pierced by the sun, looked aflame. Aefry watched as his tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip and, mindful of their place in God’s house, pressed the back of her hand to his so as to feel close to him.

“I must away, my lady.” His words were abrupt, their sudden intimacy overwhelming.

“Yes, you must,”

Osferth swallowed, and with some urgency said, “But I will see you soon.” Her beautiful face became doleful as she looked at the bidding candles and he stepped closer to her. Her eyes, brimming with tears, took in his face and as he made to brush them away, she stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss against his cheek.

Frozen before the shrine, Osferth listened as her steps carried her from the chapel, away from Adburh and Saeflaed, from Finan and Sihtric, and from him.

In the meadow beyond the town, beneath the oak tree, Aefry let her tears fall.

“The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night,” she said aloud to the grasses and the birds. Please, she begged, please let him come back.

Notes: Matins, prime, compline and vigil are part of the liturgical hours in the catholic faith, and are prayers that are said throughout the day. Typically for a monk, there would be matines, prime, lauds, none, sext, vespers and compline. Vigil came before holy days and some even took nocturnes which is around 1am. I used to live with a monk (true!) and sometimes I would do lauds with him. Fifteen minutes of quiet is a lovely way to start the day!

Tags: @arcielee @babyblue711 @elizarbell @chilling-in-my-head @skikikikiikhhjuuh @fan-goddess @sylas-the-grim @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @doomwhathouwilt @gemini-mama @myfandomprompts @bcon24 @humanpurposes @wise-owl @bookwyrmsblog @yentroucnagol @allthefandomtherapy @hightowhxre @elizarbell

#ewan mitchell #osferth #osferth x oc #osferth x reader #the last kingdom #tlk #aethelflaed #uhtred #finan #sihtric #alfred the great #we have this hope #ewan mitchell x reader

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marivoid · 5 months

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Entry 34

Day 228

Since the Angel won't be in for a few days, I decided that I would find a "Nook in the Wall" so to speak. Small shops that are hidden to the normal eye and one has to go out of their way to find it. Something that the people back in my G.U.I.D.E. used to speak so much about.

I was hoping to find one of these mysterious hidden shops.

And find it I did. Well. Actually, my growling stomach did.

As I sit here writing this update from a very comfy seat in a small bakery, I have a few things to update. One, apparently there are people that are not mortal. Two... Brian is a surprisingly good lookout.

When I first got here, I was greeted by a cozy little bakery. I hadn't seen a bakery since... Well, not important to today. As I made my way along, just enjoying myself and the sight of the bakery, a woman shouted at me over a tiny, head sized square in the wooden wall.

"Be right out there, Love! My pin's being downright awful at the moment!"

And by pin... She meant a rolling pin with one of its handles broken clean off.

But I will not lie. When I saw this woman... Something about her threw me off. At a brief glance, this woman looks kind! Like an absolute sweetheart of a woman, working her bum off every day for her bakery. But... Goodness, it's something I can't explain. Her eyes seem to be too perfect, her face too symmetrical when staring at her head on, her ears are so long and pointy... And the massive wings on her back.

Apparently people can have REAL wings. The Crashlands get even more interesting every day. And of course, she wasn't complete without an odd mechanical crow clinging to her shoulder.

"What can I get for you? Got some scones, a few donuts if you got an itchen for something sweet! Or something salty? I got scavengers in a tarp if you want some of those!" Her voice was heavily accented with a dialect from a VERY old ago. (I think Australian? I can't remember, those text books were aged ago. And I think scavengers in a tarp are like pigs in a blanket, but... I didn't ask to find out.)

"I guess just a scone would do? Something small and... I think..." I kept getting distracted by that haunting blue eye. "Your crow seems... Friendly." (I did not think he was friendly. At all.)

"What do you mean?" Her head had whipped around to glare at the robotic Crow, shooting him a look of some kind. (I think I was still dealing with the fact that this woman's whole head could turn on a DIME!) "Ohhh! Brian! He ain't nothing but all beak, no talons." She had assured me her head flipped right back around to look at him. "Now, back to what you were ordering?"

"A scone would be nice and if you have it, coffee? I haven't had a cup in forever." (It had been nearly a year at the time of me writing this. Coffee is not easy to come by!)

"Alright, love. Go ahead and take a seat, I'll call for you when you're ready. Could I get your name for the order?"

I nearly gave it to her. It seemed so simple. Just to give a little name. But there was that odd feeling again. Something just didn't feel right. Like there was a second meaning behind those brown eyes of hers.

"Just 67 works. You know how names are in the Crashlands! Never give em if you don't ever see em again!"

Her eyes lingered on me a bit too long but she did eventually nod and get to work gathering the items. I ducked away to a table after a few customers stumbled on through and waited for a bit. It was just nice to sit down for once and enjoy the smell of baked goods and not need to worry about acid rain or Stranglers trying to get me.

However... That peace did not last long.

That mechanical crow came straight over to me. Piercing blue eyes constantly staring at me.

"... Hello, Brian. Um... Pretty bird wants a cookie? No, crows can't eat cookies can they? Uhm... Don't know about scones. Maybe? You are a robot."

A robotic caw. Small, scratchy, definitely not right. Like a broken voice box.

"Well... That is no good. Voice box going a little haywire? Hold on a minute." I'm still ever so grateful I'm a collector of most things that are considered "junk." Because what did I happen to find in my bag?

Three different voice boxes, ranging in sizes. And one just so happened to be very small.

"Aha. I knew I had something." I am not lying when I write this, I swear I'm not. But he just hopped over to the voice box and SWALLOWED IT. No undoing the metal plates, no double checking to make sure it fits. Just gulped it down like a tasty summer treat.

"Brian, you can choke on that I will have you know-"

Another caw. Much louder. Much clearer. And Brian himself seemed to be a lot happier if those happy jumps were anything to judge by.

"Glad you're happy, Brian." By that time my order of scones had been called out by the odd women. Just as I was about to make a move for my order, Brian jumped up and (I swear) perched on my shoulder. Just made himself right at home.

"I do hope you know I'm not sharing my scones. Or coffee. If they have some dirty oil we'll get it for you."

Another caw and a tiny peck to the temple.

"Alright, alright! Clean oil. Hot?"

Another peck.

"Cold it is." And from there I managed to get my food and my first cup of coffee in a LONG time. I actually was able to enjoy my little moment for about an hour (Yes, I did give in and let Brian steal a couple of crumbs of scones) before that odd woman came to sit in front of me.

"You know Brian doesn't like anyone, yeah? Doesn't even like me, love! Never perched on anyone but that old stick behind the counter. All he does is go up to people, caw, and fly straight back."

"And nobody helped him before? All the little fella needed was a voice box change." And that got a whole coo from Brian. A happy one.

"Is that really it? A voice box?" Her eyes met Brian's. "Oh you little turd, here I was thinking you were sick! Been taking care of you for a while now! You've been living in birdy retirement this whole time!"

"Birdy retirement? He's been retired?" Who would possibly retire a mechanical crow?

The woman rested her chin on hand. "A couple years ago, a man walked in with Brian. Said that he didn't want the poor bird to hurt anyone. Haven't seen him since. He's had that scratchy voice this entire time, so I thought it was untreatable! It didn't help that Brian is a sassy little thing that hates mechanics!"

An angry caw this time. "I... Don't think you were supposed to take him to a mechanic. Isn't there maybe a vet around? Or maybe somebody who specializes in bots?"

"Unfortunately not, no. None that I know of." The woman and I spoke for a few more minutes, asking one another questions. But the bell eventually went off and more customers poured in.

"Welp, love, I best take care of them. How about you take Brian around, yeah? Old bird has been cooped up in here for a while and should get to see more of the Crashlands!"

I had choked on my coffee at that point. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Bring him around." She waved her hand easily. "Show him the Crashlands. I can't, I got a store to run! And my ring only goes so far! But you can go in and out as you wish. I think that's only fair, hmm?"

"Your... Ring? What exactly is a ring?"

"Nothin' you should worry yourself over. Take all the time you need, Hun. But bring Brian along. He's a good companion to have. And you won't be lonely once you leave the city!" And with that, she had turned right around and walked off to tend to her customers.

As of writing in this now, it's about two in the afternoon. Brian is still on my shoulder and has refused to leave this entire time. He's coming with me whether I like it or not!

I guess he's not all that bad. And he's good for getting a higher look at the sky!

When I left the bakery, I only then noticed the sign.

"Stress' Sweets and Salties."

Guess that woman did have a name.

I still have time to kill. Still two more days. IF that poster is accurate.

I just really need to find the Angel.

I need to find the Doctor.

-MLW and Brian

-The Crashlands.

#hermitblr #hermitcraft #the crash #void art #hermitaday #original art #mcyt fanart #stressmonster101 #stressmonster fanart #martyn itlw #martyn inthelittlewood #brian the crow

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russellcollisonphotography · 2 years

Photo

The Itchen Way, Final Leg (Eastleigh - Southampton) 010

#photographers on tumblr #nature photography #landscape photography #artists on tumblr #nature photographers #nature scene #nature #landscape photographers #landscape #river #riverside #itchen #riveritchen #itchenway #itchenvalley #itchenvalleycountrypark

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dansnaturepictures · 2 years

Photo

29/09/22-Winchester and home: Winnall Moors and more

Photos I took today in this set are of; beetle in the en suite, flower out the front, autumn leaves in Winchester, Michaelmas daisies at Winnall Moors, view at Winnall Moors, herb-Robert at Winnall Moors, two of a Buzzard at Winnall Moors, Greylag Geese on the University of Southampton sports fields tonight and sunny view at Lakeside on the way home tonight. What a treat to admire the trees of Winchester starting to turn to colour as though dipped in paint today, in glorious bits of afternoon and evening sunlight with that delicious scene of some at the railway station and nearby against bright blue sky tonight I love those type of scenes. There are real rich autumnal scenes to enjoy lately. I really appreciated the open specs and beauty of Winnall Moors within an office working day at lunch time today. I liked taking in the emerald glow of Lakeside and the University of Southampton sports fields in bright evening light as I walked home. There were stunning clear sky scenes at home tonight too with the sun merging nicely with a bit of cloud such calm and pretty scenes.

Key species seen today:

Michaelmas daisies-A flower that I wanted to see again at Winnall Moors after doing so last week that I enjoyed seeing carpeting parts of the reserve, a purple gem of beauty that I am fond of.

Herb-Robert-In a flowery visit to Winnall Moors I really enjoyed seeing these pretty in pink flowers too.

Comfrey-A delight to see in purple and white at Winnall Moors, one I’ve had a good few weeks for.

Buzzard-After one I saw at the river Itchen yesterday I was transfixed by a gorgeous one on a tree in the middle of the wetland at Winnall. A precious and unique sat still view of a bird I adore that I most often see in flight. One eerily called as the sun went in and out as I watched, I don’t think the bird was making a noise so I feel it was another. I saw feathers possibly evidence of a successful hunt from a bird of prey on the path nearby.

Robin-A lovely moment at the end at Winnall Moors briefly watching a singing bird, and I heard one well at Lakeside cutting across on the way home this evening too.

Today I also saw; a lovely Speckled Wood butterfly at Winnall Moors, a moth the other side of the window tonight, the beetle, white deadnettle in nice flower I enjoyed nettles a lot today, ivy, hemp agronomy, water mint still going nicely, pretty marsh woundwort at Winnall Moors which I saw at Winchester Cathedral yesterday too, the first forget-me-not I’d seen in a while, yarrow, a type of tit I believe at Winnall Moors flying quickly, Moorhen in the Itchen seen well at Winnall, Carrion Crow including heard and seen well at Lakeside this evening, Feral Pigeon, Greylag Geese and Pied Wagtail on the sports field which it was great to see, rose hips, other berries and I appreciated leaves a lot across today seeing some beautiful mallow leaves that I’ve enjoyed a lot lately by the side of the road on the way to the railway station. I also heard a Cetti’s Warbler as I did last week at Winnall Moors which was great.

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s4bt00nz · 6 months

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kiintitowpt

wtkintio

kintoeito pet

itchen pet

kneeekitchen set

kitchen knee set

nitowpt oooogh kinti

#kinitopet #kinito #kinito the axolotl #uuiuu

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barbucomedie · 5 months

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Spearheads from Worthy Park and Itchen Abbas, England dated between 5th - 7th Centuries CE on display at the Winchester City Museum in Winchester, England

Photographs taken by myself 2023

#archaeology #art #military history #migration period #germanic #england #english #winchester city museum #winchester #barbucomedie

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ccohanlon · 1 year

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how i live

I woke at midnight, last night, to a hard sou’westerly and the floor moving in three directions at once — pitching, rolling, rising-and-falling. Now, six hours later, the wind has moderated. Everything is still. The rest of the world is obscured by grey mist and sporadic showers, as if the sky has fallen across the shore.

I climb up a short ladder to the companionway to check that all is well on deck — it’s the first thing I do every morning — then I return to my bunk to download email and read a couple of news sites on a laptop before my wife wakes and we have a cup of coffee together across the varnished teak table that separates our bunks.

We talk about what we want to do today and waste a minute or two trying to agree a time-table before giving up. For half a decade, we have scraped by with a minimum of routine or planning. We are singularly unadept at making lists or coordinating diaries. We end up doing most things together. Today, we will pick up some paint and shackles at a chandlery and find a local metal fabricator to repair or replicate a damaged stainless steel stanchion. We also have to buy some groceries. But first I want to repair our rubber dinghy.

My wife and I live on a 32-foot sailboat. It is a life-raft of sorts. It is also an island on which we are trying to regain an unsettled but sheltered freedom after several years of being homeless. Most days, we feel like castaways, with no hope of ever being rescued.

It’s hard to explain how we ended up here. Moving aboard was not a ‘lifestyle choice’ but an act of quiet desperation. We had dropped out of a life in which I had somehow ended up running two well-known, medium-sized companies, one of them publicly listed — before those roles, I had been a musician, gambler, seaman, smuggler, photographer, magazine editor, and governmental adviser — and we had taken to wandering slowly across Europe, the UK, and North Africa. After a year holed up on the southern coast of Spain, a few miles east of Gibraltar, riding out the worst of the pandemic, we moved to southern Italy, where we acquired, and set about restoring, a small ruin, part of servants’ quarters attached to a 16th century Spanish castle, in a village not far from Lecce, in Puglia. We had just completed the work, two years later, when the local Questura, the office of the Carabinieri that oversees Italian immigration, rejected our third application for temporary residence and issued a formal instruction to us to leave Italy — and Europe’s Schengen zone.

The boat was not something we thought through in any detail. I had spent a lot of time at sea in my youth and had lived on sailing boats of various sizes on the Channel coasts of England and France, as well as in the Mediterranean. Which is to say, I had an understanding of their discomforts. But the prospect of resuming a life that, before we ended up in southern Italy, involved moving every three months — not just from one temporary accommodation to another but from one country to another, so as not to contravene the terms of our largely visa-less travel — had exhausted us. I made an offer on a cheap, neglected, 45-year-old, fibreglass sloop I had come across online and organised a marine surveyor to look it over for me. He gave it a cautious thumbs up.

I won’t forget my wife’s dolorous expression, a month later, when she saw the boat for the first time. It was in an industrial area of Southampton, on a dreich morning in early spring — bitterly cold, windy, and raining. Around us, the Itchen River’s ebb had revealed swathes of black, foul-smelling mud. Raised far from the sea, on the plains of north-eastern Oklahoma, my wife told me later she had been praying that our journey to this glum backwater was part of some elaborate practical joke.

There is a whole genre of YouTube videos created by those who live on sailboats full-time and voyage all over the world. The most popular, the so-called ‘influencers’, are young(ish) couples or families with capacious, often European-built, plastic catamarans or monohulls. Their videos focus less on the gritty, day-to-day grind of boat maintenance and passage-making and more on sojourns in ancient, stone-built harbours in the Mediterranean, white, sandy beaches and palm-fringed cays in the Caribbean, or improbably blue lagoons and solitary atolls in the South Pacific, where they barbecue fresh fish, paddle-board, kite-surf and practice yoga and aerial silks for the envy of hundreds of thousands of followers. My wife’s and my life aboard together is nothing like any of this.

We are both in our sixties — I am just a year away from seventy — and we have spent more than a decade on the move around the world, at first following eclectic opportunities for employment then, when those opportunities receded, in search of somewhere we might be able to settle with very little money. Four months after moving aboard our boat, we still think of ourselves as vagabond travellers, our boat a shambolic, floating vardo that we haven’t yet managed to turn into a home. We’re not really ‘cruisers’, despite the sense of community we sometimes find among them, but we are seafarers — historically, a marginal existence driven by necessity. A recent, 150-nautical-mile passage westward along the south coast of England was a shakedown during which we learned how to make our aged, shabby vessel more comfortable and easier to handle and to trust her capacity to keep us safe at sea.

She bore the name Endymion when we bought her — after my least favourite poem by John Keats (“A thing of beauty is a joy forever…”) — but we re-named her Wrack. Depending on the source, ‘wrack’ describes seaweeds or seagrasses that wash up along a shore or the scattered traces of a shipwreck, either of which might be metaphors for my wife and me in old age. It is certainly how we feel when we’re not at sea. Life aboard Wrack is spartan — fresh water stored in a dozen polyethylene jerry cans, no hot or cold running water, no refrigeration and when the temperature drops, no heating either — so, from time to time, we concede the cost of berthing in marinas to gain access to on-site laundries, showers, flushing toilets, and wi-fi. Whether we’re berthed or anchored somewhere, we shop for food once a week — mainly vegetables, fruit, bread, pasta, and rice but little dairy and no meat — and eat one meal a day, cooked in the mid-afternoon on a two-burner gas stove.

The days we spend in close proximity to others’ lives ashore remind us how disenfranchised ours have become. We were homeless before we acquired Wrack, but now we are without a legal residence anywhere, even in our ‘home’ countries. We enter and exit borders uneasily as ‘visitors’, our stays limited to 90 or 180 days, depending on where we are. We have no access to banking, insurance, social services or, with a few exceptions, emergency health care. Even the modest Australian pensions we have a right to can only be received if we have been granted residence in countries with which Australia has reciprocal arrangements — and we haven’t. It’s hard even for other live-aboards to understand how deeply we are enmired in this peculiar bureaucratic statelessness. It’s harder for us to deal with it every day.

But life afloat provides consolations. We are ceaselessly attuned to the weather and our boat’s responses to subtle shifts in the sea state, tide and wind even when we are tethered to a dock. We appreciate the shelter — and surprising cosiness — the limited space below decks affords us but the impulse to surrender to the elements and let them propel us elsewhere is insistent. Our best days are offshore, even when the conditions are testing; the world shrinks to just the two of us, our boat and the implacable, mutable sea around us. Whatever problems we face ashore become, at least for the duration of a passage, abstract and insignificant. We sail without a specific destination — ‘towards’ rather than ‘to’, as traditional navigators would have it — and without purpose. Time drifts.

At least half of every day is spent maintaining, repairing, or re-organising the boat, an unavoidable and time-consuming part of our days, especially at sea. When we’re at anchor or berthed in a marina, we do what we can to sustain ourselves. Most afternoons are spent prospecting for drips of income from journalism and crowd-funding — a source inspired by those younger YouTube adventurers — or adding a few hundred words to a manuscript for a non-fiction book commissioned by a Dutch publisher, whose patience has been stretched to breaking point. Because of our visitor visa status, we can’t seek gainful employment ashore, and we have long since lost contact with any of the networks that once provided us with a higher-than-average income as freelancers. Our existence, by any definition, is impoverished and perilously marginal, we have little social life, yet we make the effort to appreciate our circumstances, even if it’s just to sit together in silence and absorb the elemental white noise of wind and sea, to do nothing, to not think.

Our precariousness burdens our four adult children, who have scattered to San Diego, Sydney, Berlin and Rome: “Where are you now?” our youngest asks. “How long will you be there?” We speak to each at least once a week. Not all of them long for fixedness but they do want desperately for us to have a ‘real home’, somewhere we can assemble occasionally as a family. We will be grandparents for the first time, soon. Like our few friends, our children worry that we might become lost — in every sense.

My wife and I are uncomfortably aware of our financial and physical vulnerability but at our ages, we can no longer cling to the faint hope that there’s an end to it. We have committed to an unlikely, reckless voyage. All we can do is maintain a rough dead reckoning of its course and embrace the uncharted and the relentless unexpected.

First published in The Idler, UK, 2023.

#life #living #poverty #sea #seafaring #memoir #theidler #uk #vagabondlife #liveaboard

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mangled-foxes · 11 months

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Nightmares never last

Warnings: survivors guilt, blood mentions hair pulling, death mentions, panic attack, claustrophobia(?) If i missed anything, i apologize in advance and also fluff at the end, although it may not be as much as i wanted. hurt comfort fic

It was late at night, the wind was blew a gentle breeze that softly rocked the boat that put the crew to sleep, even the captain was asleep, standing in the corner of the kitchen to frighten the unsuspecting crew member that may wonder into the itchen late at night to try and sneak in a midnight snack.

All were resting well, sleeping soundly and cozy in bed. All except one.

Wally tossed and turned in his sleep on the cold, uncomfterble metal floor painted gold. As Wally tossed and turned, he was unable to escape the nightmares that plagued him tonight.

Wally was in a familiar setting. Trapped, he was trapped inside his lamp, Glass walls that held strong no matter the amount of physical force used against it, it wouldn't leave so much as a crack or scratch. It didn’t matter the amount of times Wally threw his body at the glass. It wouldn’t break. The nightmares always started like this. it always started off as him trapped, but soon the voices would start and then. he would see it, the faces that haunt him. the same faces that will plague his very mind no matter what he would do to try and forget.

But he could never forget, he could never forget the screams, the cries, the bodies or the blood, it never changed but it would always hurt. Every time the nightmare starts, it always hurts. It hurt Wally to know the truth that every person he brought to Neverland, who made it to this ship, would die by the captain’s uncaring hands. All the innocent souls he brought, all the souls he led for it to lead into the end of what? To save himself? to make sure he lived another day? He felt like a coward for bringing people from the mian-land only to be slaughtered later. He felt so guilty to live another day at the cost of others.

Wally closed his eyes to the darkness, but soon he would hear it. It started soft and quiet but would soon grow in volume. The soft cries in the distance slowly grew louder and louder until it was a shrill wail of a cry, the screaming cries ringing in his ears. Wally felt tears prick at his eyes. He heard them crying, pleading, screaming, and there was no escaping the noise. No escaping the cries. The noise wrapped around him like a terrible, tight blanket. burying him in its sound.

He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t run away. The clear glass walls were slowly closing in on him, he couldn’t breathe, the room was getting smaller. He couldn’t move and felt his heart pounding in his ears. His breathing started becoming fast ragged. How long will he keep doing this? How much longer will he be able to continue? How many more lives must be slaughtered? When will it be his turn on the chopping block? When will he finally be free from this personal hell? Would he be forgiven after all he has done or would he be casted out. Would anyone listen to his screams, his cries, his begging. Everything was too much, the screams surrounding him were overwhelming, the pressure of the guilt and pain was too much. No place he could hide was safe, even his own mind wasn't safe. His hands were shaking and to try and calm down he reached his hands up to his hair and started pulling and tugging to try and ground himself in any way possible. He couldn't get his breathing under control, he couldn't move. The walls that surrounded him held him tightly in place. The screams of agony were too loud and he couldn't tell who was screaming anymore, was it him or was it the fallen crew. He couldn't do this anymore, he wanted out of here, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to go home, but most importantly he wanted off of this ship.

Kelly was peacefully resting in her handmade hammock. Letting the gentle waves rock her asleep. As she rested peacefully she felt a small vibration that woke her up immediately. Kelly sat up feeling around her hammock waiting for the blur in her vision to clear. Once she felt the web line her vision fully cleared enough for her to see in front of her face did she realize the small vibration she felt from the small web line that she connected to wally's lamp, that was currently shaking and rattling a little bit. How she didn't wake up from the noise she will not lose sleep over wondering. But what re-caught her attention was wally. Kelly was tasked with watching wally tonight, a rare occurrence but an occurrence nonetheless when the captain didn’t want to keep an eye on wally. Kelly shook that thought away and got off her hammock and walked over to wally, she saw wally tossing and turning in his sleep, rocking the lamp side to side, kelly was quick to place her hands against the lamp to stabilize it, to make sure the lamp didn't fall off the edge of the small nightstand.

Kelly let out a small sigh as she saw Wally's nightmare continue. The longer she looked at Wally the more details she noticed, his disheveled hair and clothing, his tear stained face, his ragged breathing. the more she stared the more she had an internal dilemma started to grow inside her. On one hand her job was to only watch wally tonight and she could leave him be, but on the other hand seeing wally having a nightmare did bring up some old memories of her three younger siblings but she quickly shook that off. Unlike in her home garden, she can't take her siblings into her arms and rock them to sleep under the stars away from her parents watchful eye. If she were to do that with wally she wouldn't know if one wally would appreciate it and two she would have no idea where the captain was, she would have no idea if the captain was out on the deck or in his office, or anywhere else on the ship.

The longer kelly looked at wally the more that international dilemma grew, and after 5 minutes she couldn’t take it anymore and let out a heavy sigh and quickly walked away to peak her head out to see if anyone was out on the deck, once she was certain there was no one she quickly made her way back to wally, and- she hesitated. She had to think long and hard about this. If she got caught, she wouldn't know the extent of that punishment. but also wally, he could try to leave or he could wake everyone else up and that noise could attract the captain's attention and therefore worsen her punishment. But seeing Wally in a terrible nightmare did nothing to help with her dilemma of being a big sister or being a ward watching over Wally. She sighed and let her upper rest on her face while letting her middle arms grab Wally's lamp.

Wally was sobbing the walls were too close and tight around him, his own hands gripping his hair were in a death grip. his own breathing was choppy and shot, he felt like he was gonna pass out his heart was beating too fast the pounding in his ears was starting to ring painfully. He couldn't move, couldn't run, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything, the cries of the fallen crew were loud and nothing Wally was doing failed to wake him up. That was till he felt a small pressure on his back.

Wally then shot up with a gasp and felt a hand around his body and quickly looked around to see Kelly's concerned face, he felt her moving him onto the palm of left hand and her right hand let him go. "take a deep breath, and hold it for 4 seconds then hold it for 7 and let it go for 8" With kelly's free right hand she slowly put her fingers down, helping wally calm down, and after 5 minutes wally calmed down enough to breathe properly and had his mind calm down enough.

Wally looked up to Kelly, as she used the back of her finger to wipe away his tears so her nails didn't scratch him, and two different hands fixed his outfit and hair. Before Wally could ask what was happening, Kelly held him close to her chest and she started humming a tuneless song and walked out the room making sure he was hidden in her hands in case anyone else decided to go out on the deck for a small late night stroll.

Once Kelly was sure again no one was around she leaned over the ship's railing and opened her hands letting wally see full moon and stars shining tonight against the oceans reflective surface, Wally looked up at kelly confused, he was even more confused to see her eyes closed, not even keeping an eye on wally or ready to grab him if he decided to fly off right then and there. "i figured you needed a break outside that lamp" Kelly broke the silence finally opening her eyes to look at wally. He didn't say anything in response, just curling in on himself in the palm of her hand.

Before the silence could last Kelly started humming again, taking in the soft salty air admiring how the stars were glowing tonight. Kelly held wally up to face level with her, her face full of concern "We don't have to talk about it, but do take in the air and stars, it can help calm you down better than i could" wally didn't say anything but did take a deep breath and looked up a the stars, freedom right at his fingertips. so close but so far out of his reach. Wally leaned back, landing against the top of Kelly's chest as they both took the stars in together.

Both didn't say a word to each other, staying silent to listen to the waves or Kelly's occasional humming. and when it got too cold for Wally his shivering made Kelly decide it was time to head back inside where it would be warmer.

Once both were inside Wally was trying to mentally prepare himself to go back to sleep on the uncomfterble floor of the lamp, but to his surprise Kelly walked past it to go into her hammock instead. Bringing out a thin hand knitted blanket and moving her pillow to her chest as she laid Wally down on it before getting herself comfortable on her side and tucking him and herself under the blanket, "goodnight Wally, hopefully your next dream will be more merciful to you. Remember bad dreams don't last forever." With a gentle kiss to Wally's forehead Kelly leaned back down and closed her eyes, letting the world go blurry, letting the gentle sounds of the waves and the rocking of the ship lulling her back to sleep leaving Wally wide awake alone free to do as he pleased.

Wally didn't move for several minutes, wanting to make sure Kelly was truly asleep. but the longer he waited the more tired he felt, Kelly's blanket trapping his body heat slowly lulling him to sleep, although he would prefer to stay awake the horrible memory of his nightmare coming back to him, but the pillow was also comfortable to lay on, far more comfortable then the lamp, So he let himself sink further into the pillow and pulled the blanket closer to him to keep himself comfortable and warm, letting his guard down slowly until he felt safe enough to close his eyes to sleep. "Goodnight Kelly," Wally whispered, letting his mind drift back to what she said earlier.

'Bad dreams dont last forever'

Maybe one day Wally will be free from this nightmare, but until then, he will take this small moment of peace and rest safely against Kelly. If he's lucky and under Kelly's watch again maybe he could rest on her pillow again, the lamp floor truly is uncomfterble and cold and it gives him the reassured feeling of being away from home, away from the captain's watchful eye.

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Finished!! @alice-angel12x Sorry this took me so long, but i hope you enjoyed it as much as i had writing it.

#welcome home au #welcome home fanfic #welcome home neverland #wally welcome home #wally darling welcome home #welcome home home #welcome home #tinkerbell wally #welcome home oc #oc #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

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