Lord Aldhelm of Mercia

“My love?” Finan called bursting through the door of his home as if he were lit on fire. The excited Irishman could no doubt be heard halfway across the village. “Are ya here?”

“I am. What do you want?” She asked, placing the wooden spoon down from stirring the pot on the fire. “What is the rush?”

“No rush.” His dark eyes lit up in the soft afternoon light. Dark hair tousled from nearly sprinting home, his smile wide under his growing beard. The warm months were coming fast, which meant in a short while the animal living on his face would be shorn down. How she hated those days.

“You run in here, shouting like a man in battle, and not even so much as a kiss?” She teased, wiping her hands on the cloth beside the hearth.

“Aye, forgive my excitement.” He winked, grabbing her around the waist and kissing her like a man who had been starved of touch for several years. A feeling that Finan knew too well. “I have brought ya something.”

Pulling at the leather satchel that he wore across his body, he placed it on the wooden table, grinning from ear to ear. The last time he had brought her a gift they had been left with weeks of song, as the blue bird he'd managed to save from a feral cat, sang praises morning and night. When it was well enough, she had let it go and lied – saying it flew away on it's own. She didn't have the heart or the tolerance to keep the bird any longer.

“Have you?” Tilting her head, she watched as he reached into his satchel, producing an object wrapped in a white cloth.

Allowing the cloth to fall away, Finan watched with amusement as she gasped and felt her cheeks burn. “I believe ya will find it most intriguing.”

“What is that?” placing a hand to her chest, she glared at him suspiciously.

“It's...” Finan held up the leather clad cock like object with a wide and hearty grin. The Irish man had very little shame for a man who claimed to be Christian. “An appendage.”

“An appendage?”

“Yes. It's wood, on the inside.” Finan explained, placing a small pot of oil on the table. “This goes with it.”

"What is it for?"

"Aye! Ya can use it when I am not here, for uh..." Finan cleared his throat as she picked up the brown object. Moving it in her delicate hand, she eyed it curiously. "Pleasure."

“Finan, I believe that you have entirely lost it.”

“No, look, it's a real thing. I've heard that some of the nuns use them, for...things in which would cause a nun to sin, if done with a man.”

“Are you saying that I should be in the convent, then?”

“No, I am saying that I know how lonely ya get when I am gone. It might not be a such a bad idea, to have a bit of relief.” Finan stood wide eyed, trying to work his way out of this one. Oh this could be tricky. “The whores, at the ale house, they use them too. Sometimes on the men.”

“So now I am a whore?” shoving the wooden cock back at her husband, she scowled.

Shaking his head, wooden cock still in his grasp, Finan huffed. “Not at all, my love. Ya are the most wholesome and honest of women. I would never think of ya as a whore.”

“What's wrong with being a whore? I believe Sihtic's wife was a whore, was she not? She's a fine lady.”

“No, I didn't mean...well yes, she's a fine lady. I...oh stop it.” Finan grumbled in frustration.

Taking joy in Finan's flustered state, she stood before him, her delicate hand reaching out to stroke his thick beard. Eyes bright and teasing, he should have known that she would take the chance to rouse him. She always took the chance to torment him, whenever she could. It was a quality he loved so much about her.

Holding the wooden cock, in the middle of their house, Finan huffed and narrowed his gaze. “W-would ya like to try it?”

A bold question.

Shrugging lazily, she scrunched her nose and gently sighed. “I suppose, shall I wait for you to leave?”

“Why would you need to wait?”

“In case I decide that I prefer it. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed.” A smile from the devil himself graced her angel like features.

Finan rolled his eyes. “Ah, is that what ya think?”

Shrugging she smirked. “Already I see that it has some differences, especially in size.”

“Now look here, woman.” Finan's brow creased. “I can take that back, just as easily.”

No he could not.

The woman he had gotten it from was strict, once he laid his coin down, this was now his to worry about. At the very least, they could strip it and use it as a fire starter. Finan hoped, deep in his chest, he hadn't wasted good coin on fire wood.

“I am teasing, Finan. You must relax, perhaps we need to use this for you?” a glimmer in her eye, told him that she was teasing, partially. She knew how relaxed he often became after they'd humped.

“I uh...I wouldn't...I don't....um. Maybe?” Finan stammered, feeling a slight drop in the pit of his stomach. “Though ya should try it first, it's your gift.”

In his younger days, while he was foolish and spry, there had been a few encounters that Finan had taken with other young men. Curious and bored, they would often explore one another, looking for release they did not have to provide for themselves. Never would Finan allow a single soul to know such a secret, yet he had always felt there were things that his wife knew, despite how far he had buried them under.

She would never judge him for his past, a lonely prince, looking for his place of belonging.

One evening, she had asked him for a whore from the ale house, needing to satisfy a craving that she'd taken. Her own past endeavours needing to be scratched once more. Another woman's flesh against her own, as her husband watched from his chair where he would often sit by the fire, sharpening Soul-Stealer or whittling. On that particular evening, he had sat as the fire light cast a golden glow against two women, tangled in one another, as if goddesses sent to earth.

“I will never know what possessed you to think of such a gift.” She chuckled at him.

“I am a thoughtful and generous man.” Finan laughed, swatting her ass as she walked by.

“The most generous.” She concluded with a snort. “Finan, do you wish to try my gift? If you do, then I will not judge.”

“For now it is yours, perhaps another time I can see what all the fuss is about? For now, I want to know, does it pleasure ya as I can?” His voice low, his accent growing thicker.

“Hmm, you wish to see the competition?”

“Aye, I do.” He nodded firmly. “I want to see if I can let ya keep it or burn the cursed thing.”

“Oh, you fool. I will promise you now, I will never love another cock the way that I love yours.” She pinched his cheek, moving to push aside the curtain to their bed. “Well,” she gestured to the wooden cock on the table, “shall we play then?”

Eyeing her with a subtle eagerness, as drew back the linen that separated their main house from the bed, Finan felt his chest grow tight. Lifting her skirt, she smiled at him with a hint of deviousness. Sliding back onto the bed, she hiked her skirt higher, allowing it to sit above her hips and ass. Excitement tinged the air as if a storm were to strike at any second.

Hands smoothing against her thighs, she bit her bottom lip and waited with anticipation as Finan lifted the appendage – as he called it, along with the small pot of oil. Moving the wooden cock back and forth in his hand, his face serious for a split second as if he were trying to work out the most intense question. The weight of the cock was surprisingly light, the leather smooth and the shape certainly didn't leave any question as to what it was supposed to be.

Standing with it in his hand, Finan wrapped his fist around the girth. Eh, he huffed. Only a tiny bit bigger than he was.

“Finan.” She called from where she was perched on the edge of the bed. Watching her husband fist the wooden cock. Watching as he rolled it over in his fist, glancing at it from every angle as if it were a new sword blade, stirred something inside. Perhaps it was a sin to enjoy such a moment? If that were the case then her soul was already damned.

“Aye?” He lifted his head to look at her, his cheeks flushing red under his beard. He'd been caught admiring the craftsmanship a little too closely. Eventually, maybe, one day he would agree to test it himself.

“Are we going to play or are you going to sit there and admire it all day?” Teasing, she winked and slid her body back further.

“Hold your horses.” He tutted at her with a slight chuckle. “It needs to be prepared. First, you put the oil on it.” He explained, tipping the lid off of the small pot. “Just a bit.” He cautioned, dipping his callused finger tip into the pot of oil that he had brought with him. The oil had a light floral scent, though not too overbearing. Smearing the oil against the wooden cock, Finan's brow creased in concentration. “Only a little, will do.”

“Only a little.” She repeated, propped on her elbows watching him prepare the gift that he had so thoughtfully brought her.

“Once it's coated,” he held it upright allowing a bit of oil to drip onto his hand, “ya um...did ya want to?”

“Oh, I've never...fingers sure. Would you?” She felt her cheeks heating with the admission. Finan wasn't a fool, he understood that a woman needed pleasure as much as a man, even when she had to create the pleasure on her own. Hence why he had brought home such a gift.

“If ya want me to stop at any point, tell me.” He took a step forward, kissing her cheek and grinning. Beard tickling her skin, she nodded and held her breath. Chest tight and stomach in knots, she laid back allowing Finan to take control.

Parting her legs, he swiped an oil soaked finger against her folds. Wet already, as he suspected she would be. Placing a kiss to her bare thigh, he took a second to glance up at her. Bottom lip between her teeth, chest barely moving. He reminded her to breathe. Inhaling deeply, she felt the smooth leather pressing against her. An unfamiliar sensation.

What an odd, yet arousing feeling.

Slowly pressing the tip to her wet folds, Finan watched her like a hawk. He knew her well enough to stop or continue, although he wanted her to say it.

“Are ya good with this?”

“I am.” She swallowed hard, fingers digging into her skirt in anticipation of what the next moment would bring.

Angling the wooden cock just so, Finan slid it the rest of the way into her. Gasping and rocking her hips ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered and Finan watched. Waiting for his next command.

“Oh that is...” She drew a deep breath as the foreign object invaded her body. She was certainly no maiden nor was she innocent to the pleasure of a man. She and Finan had been together for three winters, married for two. In that time they had had their fair share of intimacy, even engaging in the occasional fuck behind the ale house when they'd had a few too many and couldn't wait to get home.

“How is that?”

“It's...different, but not a bad different?”

“Ya look like an angel.” He commented, taking in the sight of his wife spread on their bed as the wooden cock took his place inside of her. Finan slowly moved the object back, causing her to whimper at the emptiness it created. In a swift second he pushed it back inside, earning a pleased gasp and moan.

Finding the rhythm with his hand around the end of the wooden cock, Finan watched in awe as she stretched and took it perfectly. Many nights he had watched as she devoured his cock, taking every single inch without hesitation or complaint. To think that when he was gone, for seasons at a time, she wouldn't be left feeling so frustrated or angry whenever the ... need arose.

Her body felt as though it had been cast into the fire, heating with each stroke that Finan took. She opened her eyes, watching as her husband delicately orchestrated each movement with grace and precision. Deep in concentration, Finan was taking this as seriously as he took each move and swing of his sword on the battle field.

“Finan.” She gripped his forearm, tightening the grip as the wooden cock intruded on her. “Oh.”

“Would ya like to try?” He placed her hand on the object, his hand over hers, guiding the pace. “When you're ready, I'm going to let go.”

Clasping the wooden cock in her hand had been awkward at first, attempting to get her hand around it and be comfortable. Under Finan's guidance she managed to keep the pace of the strokes going, her wrist aching but not wanting to give up until she reached that peak of bliss. As promised, once she got the hang of it, Finan's hand slipped away and he took a seat on his chair.

Removing his sword and loosening the tie on his trousers, to get comfortable. Settled he began to palm his growing cock. Straining against the confines, begging for attention. Watching her body quiver as she worked the wooden cock was a feast for the eyes. Why hadn't Finan bought her one of these sooner?

Dipping two fingers into the oil, Finan watched it run down onto the palm of his battled hardened hand. Smooth and silky, much like the feel of her skin under his touch. Rubbing his fingers against his hand to spread the oil, he grunted making a fist around his ready cock. Stroking slowly as first, not wanting to find his release before she did, he sighed and felt his body shudder at the sensation.

Oil warming against his skin, as he thrust into his fist, he could smell the floral scent from the oil filling the room. Laid back on the bed, legs wide, she moaned his name as the wooden object pleasured her. Finding a steady rhythm, she gasped and cried out as it nudged all the right places. One hand on the wooden cock, the other placed against her folds, she teasingly brushed her fingers against the sensitive ball of nerves. Twisting her clit between her thumb and finger, she arched her back and bucked her hips into the pleasure.

“Ya are beautiful.” He grunted, stroking his own cock.

Watching her writhe as she drew the wooden cock from her body, then slid it back inside to be taken, Finan's breathing began to grow heavier with each stroke. His pace matching hers, as he tightened his hand around his cock. How he wished to be the one bringing her such elation.

His seed spilling over his hand and dribbling down along his thighs. Head back and mouth a gape, he looked like a man lost. Her body quivered and clenched around the wooden object, not as satisfying as her husband, but she was certain that it would fill the void while Finan was gone for such long stretches – as he often was.

Sat in his chair, eyes closed, breath heavy Finan felt as though his body was on fire. Vaguely he could hear her moving around, the sound of soft foot steps against the rough wooden floor. He opened his eyes, when he sensed her hovering over him. Grasping his cock, she was careful to help it find her wetness, straddling his lap. Nestled inside of her, Finan felt his body shake as she moved her hips against him.

“I think ya are a bit eager, my love.” His laugh was groggy and his voice weary.

“Perhaps. But is it a crime to sit with my husband?” She asked adjusting her hips, to take him deeper.

“Not at all.” Finan shook his head, looking at her through hooded eyes.

Bending forward, she captured his lips. Kissing him gently at first, tongues finding one another, as she pressed into his chest and rocked her hips against him. Moaning into his mouth, she whimpered and steadied herself by grabbing his broad shoulders.

“Finan.” her voice worn.

“Steady on, my love.” He coaxed, hands on her hips thrusting into her. “No need to rush, sit as long as ya need.”

“I could stay like this all night.” She smiled resting her chin on his shoulder. Taking in the scent, sweat mixed with the hint of oil that they had used. “I love feeling your cock.”

“Aye, my cock agrees.”

“You fool.” She swatted him in the chest.

“Do you think that will do, while my cock is away?” His eyes trailing across her face and along her lips. How he loved her lips. Once they had caught their breath maybe he would ask her how she felt taking the wooden cock in her mouth as she often did his.

“I must say, the gift. Oh my,” she paused, twisting the string to the cross around his neck, “what a thoughtful present for your wife.”

He hated it.

Every moment he stepped onto the battlefield, he wondered if it would be the day he met his demise. He fought valiantly, yes, every time—but why? Just so he could live and someone else could die? Was it cruel of him to live a life of such hypocrisies?

And then there were days that the thought of death got to him, and not even ale would bring him comfort. On these days, he searched for familiar faces. Finan was fun, yes, but not like the friend whom he's come to know and love. They tended to his emotional wounds like no other. But it was rare that the days and thoughts of death would land on the days they were actually in Coccham.

When he was in Coccham, though, his feet found the familiar path to their humble abode. His lips would say their name so sweetly, and the scents wafting from their home from the freshly baked breads and pies they would always make would hound his nose, reminding him that he was oh so alive.

Death would not have him yet. Not any time soon, if he had a say in it.

You were to thank for that. His perseverance. His need to stay alive, no matter the cost. 

Sihtric slips through your front door with little bit a quick knock just to let you know he was there. You would have heard the horses, heard the people running by announcing their return. 

And of course, you were ready to greet him. 

All smiles, you open your arms to him, and he immediately melts into them, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He smells of rain and mud and blood. A little of it is uniquely Sihtric's, his natural musk evident. He needed a bath, but it would come in time. For now, you held him.

"It is good to see you," you say, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He hums against you, unmoving and as still as a tree, feet anchored to the ground beneath him. He breaths you in, feels your body in his hands. The consistent force of man and steel, the agile Dane who did all he could for his Lord Uhtred, reduced to nothing more than a simpering child in your arms. He loves you. He knows he does. 

Now to tell you before his feet grew cold. 

He looks up at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. 

"I must tell you of our battles," he says, hands squeezing your sides. "I must tell you what I learned, as well."

"Come, then. Let me get you a slice of pie and a bit to drink, hm? Then you can tell me while you eat."

He perks up at the mention. "Pie?"

"No meat, but we had an abundance of berries just this morning. I thought a sweet would settle nicely. Had I known you'd return today, I would have done differently."

"What?" he starts, smiling all the while. "No, no, berry is good. I love berry pie."

You fight back a soft giggle, pulling back from his hold. "Go, sit. How much would you like?"

"As much as you're willing to give."

Soon enough, you return to him with wine and pie, grateful you bartered one of your other pies with your neighbor for a bit of wine that morning. It turned out to be a wonderful decision, after all. As Sihtric dug in to his food, he talks through bites. 

"There were so many of them! It was like walking through an army of men completely out of their skulls. May the gods follow them where they lie." He bites back his other words. I was scared I would not return to you. I was scared to die. 

"Sounds as if you've had your fill of blood for the next few weeks," you say, more hopeful than anything. 

He smiles. "Lord Uhtred says we're to stay in Coccham for at least two weeks. He's waiting to hear word from Alfred, and you know how that goes."

"Hmm," you sound out, leaning back against your chair. "And you? Are you planning to stay?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Where, pray tell, would I go?"

"You must have a woman to go and find," you say, smiling at him. Not out of jealousy or delirium, but genuine care. For all you cared for the man, you could admit that you only wanted him to be happy.

At your words, he nearly chokes on his sip of wine. He sputters, quickly sitting it down to stare at you with wide, heterochromatic eyes. 

"What?"

"Sihtric."

"No, truly," he says, staring at you in disbelief. "Are you—you cannot be serious."

"I am," you say, shaking your head. "I'd like to believe you're not here to waste all your precious time with me."

"I want to waste my precious time with you," he blurts, clearing his throat. "I—" 

He averts his gaze for less than a second. And then, he reaches forward, grabbing ahold of your hand. The gods spur him on. He must tell you for fear of missing out, for the fear of missing you. 

"I'm here to waste all my time with you. But—it would not be a waste. Not if it was with you. My time spent with you, that is." 

He's flustered and blushing, hand gripping onto yours for dear life. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, lips parted in surprise. Or, well, more or less a feeling of disbelief. Was he in earnest? You move to speak, to ask him, but he stops you by speaking himself.

"What I learned," he says, "when I was out there, fighting. I learned that there is something bringing me back to Coccham, and it is not just Lord Uhtred. It is not my friends, not Finan nor Osferth. You—I learned that you are the reason I continue to come back. And I fear that if I do not say something, I will miss out on the chance."

You stare, wide eyed and silent.

"Death is always around the corner. I shall die and find Valhalla one day. Even so, I do not wish to die. Not until I have had the chance to know you as I want to know you."

"You... you want to know me?" you echo, unable to stop yourself.

"I want to love you," he says. "Ah—no, I do love you. Very much."

Heat burns in the core of your heart, weightless amongst the nervous feeling washing over you. You had never felt so seen before this moment, never felt so loved. You could feel it just through his words, through his tender gaze. 

He felt the same. 

He felt the same, and you were sitting here, staring like some daft child—

"I love you," he says, this time much quieter, hesitant even. "I am not lying to you."

You squeeze his hand. 

"I love you, too," you whisper, the confession leaving you breathless and out of your depth. 

This was it. 

Death may be waiting on the other side for Sihtric, but he would face it willingly now, knowing that he spoke the truth in every possible way. He would fight it for as long as he could, but when the time comes, he knows the anxiety he feels now would be nothing compared to the love you have given him, even if you only just confessed. 

He smiles at you, a small, steady thing that is far more contagious than you would like it to be. He leans forward, nose gently brushing against yours. 

"Truly?" he asks.

"Truly," you answer.

He closes the small gap between you, chapped lips pressing against your own. He tastes of berry and pie crust and the sweet wine long since forgotten on the table beside you, lips molding perfectly with yours. 

Or perhaps it had just happened slowly and unnoticeably.

It didn’t really matter how or when, all you knew was that your heart was beating for Sihtric. Unfortunately, Sihtric seemed determined to avoid seeing it, and lately, he seemed even more determined to avoid you altogether. 

If you joined Uhtred's table, Sihtric suddenly remembered an errand.

If you walked toward the training ground, he found a reason to be elsewhere. 

If your eyes found his across the hall, he looked away first.

So when the merchant began courting you, you let him.

Not because you loved him, and definitely not because you wanted him. You were just tired.

Tired of hoping, of waiting, of being overlooked. 

Somewhere between another evening where Sihtric quietly changed seats the moment you sat beside him and another day spent lingering near the training grounds, waiting for a conversation that never came, you finally decided to let go. 

"You cannot keep him waiting forever."

Gisela reached across the table and took your hands in hers. She wanted what everyone else seemed to want for you: certainty, happiness, safety.

You looked down.

"I know."

"And?"

"Tomorrow," you said quietly. "Tomorrow, I'll give him my answer."

You were almost half asleep, lulled by the rain, rustling against your roof, when a frantic drum against your door startled you.

You opened the door and froze.

Sihtric, soaked to the skin, dark curls plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his jaw and streaming down his cloak to a puddle on the ground.

You simply looked at him, and for a long moment he did the same. 

"I tried," he finally said quietly, looking down to his boots. 

"Tried what?"

"To be happy for you."

You stared at him.

"I tried to tell myself it was for the best." He swallowed hard. "That he is better for you.That anything is better than a bastard warrior with nothing to give." 

Your expression slowly changed from surprise to anger.

"Sihtric..."

"He is kind," he continued. "He is safe. He can give you things I never could." 

"But every time I imagined you with him..." his voice cracked and Sihtric reached for your hand. His fingers trembled around yours and before you could say anything, he dropped to his knees on the rain-soaked porch.

"Sihtric, what are you doing?"

"I know I'm too late," he said. "But I cannot let you marry him without telling you the truth."

He looked up at you. 

"I love you. I always have. And I know I should have said something long ago, but even if you choose him or somebody else, even if you never forgive me for waiting this long..."

"I will love you for the rest of my life."

For a moment you just stood there, watching raindrops stream down his face, although you weren’t totally sure these were raindrops anymore then you stepped closer.