#ems300

He should have been utilizing these past few hours properly. The power-hungry businessman within him demanded it. Making plans for further expansion into and around London. Listening to the whispers of gossip and the hidden morsels of truth in them. Anything. Even cracking a few heads and bloodying his suit because someone looked at him wrong. Anything other than this useless pacing. 

But the concern and fear kept an ever tightening chokehold around his throat, refusing to relent. So he paced. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

By the time he was done, there would certainly be a permanent groove embedded the wood floor. 

Never more had he felt a predator trapped in a cage. Staring through the bars, eyeing those who stared warily at him, waiting….just waiting to sink his teeth into someone and shred them, just to momentarily sate the burning fear that choked him. 

He stopped his pacing to throw back another glass of whiskey before resuming his relentless pacing. His suit jacket had been discarded within the first hour of his arrival at the Garrison. His sleeves were now rolled up, the top two buttons undone on his dress shirt. His hair most likely looked a mess with how often he had run his fingers through the dark strands. He knew this was a side of him rarely seen by the population of Birmingham. Thankfully so. For when Harry opened the door into the snug, to bring in their newest bottle of whiskey, he had physically recoiled when meeting Tommy's icy eyes. The gangster wondered how much of the manic consuming his mind bled through into his gaze, making him seem more crazed predator than human. 

And so he paced.

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

"Tommy, sit down." Arthur chuckled, throwing his cards down on the table. A groan left his lips when he realized that he lost another hand in the poker game Tommy was supposed to be playing with his brothers to distract him. Instead he was pacing. 

Tommy ignored his older brother. His feet never stopped. 

"C'mon, Tom." John smirked as he pulled the winnings closer to him. "You know Pol's takin' care of her. Esme's there too. She'll be fine."

"Not wot you was saying when your first was born, eh?" Arthur pointed out, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before draining it. "Puking behind the Garrison, you were. Drinking like a fish then to puke it all up from nerves. Me and Tommy almost put you outta your misery, knock you out cold. Fuck. Was planning on it when Ada came running' and screaming' about the baby being' born. Then you could barely walk back to Watery Lane, reeking of whiskey and vomit. If Martha wasn't holding a baby in her arms, she'd probably have hit you with her favorite pan. Yeah, that bloody heavy one too."

The corners of Tommy's mouth tilted upward as Arthur spoke, taking a moment to reminisce. He remembered Ada and Finn's births as a child himself. He could remember finally being allowed to return home after hours of being forced to stay outside while his mother screamed and cried with bringing new life into this unforgiving world. Yet with John's first, he had been a man and had a better understanding of what was going on. Of how precarious and difficult giving birth could be for both the woman and child. How there was no guarantee that both would survive. That a new life could just as easily rip away the one guiding it into the world. And all the blood and screams….

With that thought in mind, Tommy started pacing and chain smoking again. Fears renewed and clawed at him until he wanted to smash his head against the wall to just make it stop. 

Right away this morning, before the sun even graced the sky and he opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong. 

Tommy always woke up before his wife, usually before any other Shelby member since he was a child. There was something about waking up before the rest of the world, in taking those minutes of silence and peace to allow his mind to fully awaken and his body to restart. To just be….until he put on the suit and firmly tightened the stoic mask he wore and became what he needed to be. 

Once he met you, the love of his life, and convinced you to start regularly sleeping in his bed, he was now not as quick to rise and greet the sun. He would be awake, but instead of crawling out of bed like before, with a cigarette in hand and searching for a glass of whiskey to toss back, he would linger. His hand might trace lightly over your exposed skin or listen to your breathing there in the morning gray. His thoughts would writhe and twist like normal, scheming and planning before he had even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But with you in bed next to him, he remained just a little while longer, soaking up the peace he only found with you nearby. His wife. The one who truly saw past his mask and drew out the hidden, compassionate side of him he had thought long dead and buried. 

So when he woke up this morning, finding himself alone in the bed, only the first rays of sunlight hinted in the sky….he knew something was wrong. 

Dressed only in a pair of knickers, Tommy rushed downstairs to find you washing the dishes you had been too tired to finish last night. Your nightgown hung loosely over your frame, but clung jealously tight against your swollen belly. As he opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, you froze, hand gripping the edge of the sink with an intense look of concentration. After two deep breaths, your eyes focused back as if waking from an uncomfortable daydream. It was then you noticed him. A beguiling smile lit up your face as you spoke softly. 

"We're having a baby today."

And his whole world imploded. 

Apparently, your contractions had started the hour prior and because of them you could not sleep. So instead of waking Tommy, which he was quite unhappy about and made sure you understood, you had snuck downstairs to do some chores while you waited for your contractions to progress. He logically knew it took hours until it was time for the baby's arrival, especially with the first. It did not mean he liked the idea of you suffering alone, even if you assured him you were fine. 

Eventually Polly arrived, took one look at you and stated, "I had a feeling when I woke up it'd be today." Then she eyed Tommy in his undressed state, since he refused to leave his wife alone, and forcibly commanded that he get dressed and get to the betting shop. This was women's business now. 

Yet while at the betting shop, he could not think. Worries gnawed away at his mind like filthy rats. Panic and despair whispered their half-truths into his ears. In his distressed state, all he could do was stare at the green doors. Knowing on the other side was his beautiful wife in labor with their first child. A baby they were both thrilled to have. Now anxiety reminded him what you must endure to bring his child into the world, to place it in his arms. And how easily he could lose both you and the already beloved baby. 

Only after two hours of being open, Arthur and John shut down the shop for the day and dragged his arse to the Garrison. They kept Scudboat and Lovelock back to maintain presence at the betting shop and announce that it was a Birmingham holiday. 

Hours late here he was. Still pacing. That ever tightening chokehold of fear made it hard to breathe. The heavy stone of anxiety threatened to cave in his chest. There had been no word of how you were doing. Or how the babe was. So his mind conjured nightmares to fill in the void of information. He wondered if the combination of terrifying thoughts and excessive whiskey would send him puking his guts out behind the Garrison. Now he felt a stab of regret for teasing John so ruthlessly after his own turbulent experience. 

"Tommy," John murmured again, an undertone of understanding in his voice. He met his older brother's eyes, compassion shining as he spoke words of reassurance. "She'll be fine. She's strong. Pol won't let anything 'appen."

Tommy nodded silently, letting his brother's words flow over him like a cool breeze. 

"Think the babe will look like Tommy?" Arthur asked, rearranging the cards in his hand. Clearly attempting to break the tense air stifling the snug. 

"I fooking hope not. Poor child will be teased if he's that ugly."

Tommy lightly smacked the back of John's head, even as John just smirked and swatted him back. For a moment, the despair lightened like the sun breaking through storm clouds. 

Arthur laughed loudly. "Yeah, probably best the babe takes after y/n. A beauty she is. Poor girl can't go anywhere without men just staring at 'er."

"That's me wife you're talking about." Tommy growled but without any sort of heat behind his words.

"And the perfect wife for you!" Arthur raised his glass in a toast before tossing it back. John quickly followed suit. 

Tommy made a mental note to ask about who has been staring at his wife. Then he started pacing again. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Finally, the storm swirling in his chest reached its peak, battering against his resolve until it lay decimated like a ship against the merciless rocks. He had to do something. Anything. If he continued pacing, drowning himself in whiskey and cigarettes, he was going to lose what last pieces of sanity he still maintained. 

No one wanted to see the consequences of that. 

Without a word, he grabbed his suit jacket and yanked it on. Even before his arms were fully in the sleeves, he had thrown open the door to the snug and raced out like the devil was on his heels. From behind, he could hear Arthur and John calling out to him but he kept moving. His fears, his sudden terror, growled at his heels like vicious wolves. His need to know, to see his wife, propelled him onward. 

Tommy was a man who had always liked to be in control. Who held all of the cards and could play them as he pleased. Who was three steps ahead of everyone else. It was not arrogance when he could confidently say he was the most intelligent man in Birmingham. Ever since he was a child, he had always been more clever and smarter than his peers. When others could only see a straight line, he saw multiple, twisting lines that got him farther and with more resources than that single straight line everyone else saw. 

Beyond that, he needed that control as much as the air he breathed. For without it, he felt like a rowboat lost at sea, tossed about by waves and praying it would not capsize. Bad things usually happened when Tommy was not in control.

But in this situation….he had none. There was nothing he could do. There was no one he could pay for the right information. No way to be ahead of the game. He had no control over childbirth. Over the pain his wife would endure. No control if everything went to hell. There was not a goddamn thing his hands or his mind could do to solve it. 

And that very simple fact terrified him down to his core. 

Without a care, he threw open the front door to 6 Watery Lane and stalked in like a predator on the loose. 

Almost immediately, Esme popped around the corner from the parlor. Shock initially crossed her face before morphing into confused annoyance. She crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowed at him. "You can't be 'ere."

"It's me own home."

"You can't be here!" Esme practically snarled. "You'll bring bad spirits with you!"

Tommy approached his sister-in-law, his movements smooth, not giving away the way he felt his bones vibrating with agitation and concern. He stopped just in front of her, towering over her smaller form, his voice cold and clipped when he directed his question to her. "Where is she?" 

Before Esme could respond, Polly stood behind her, an almost matching scowl on her face. 

"You shouldn't be here, Thomas. This is women's business. You'll make the birthing further unclean if you come in."

"And bring bad spirits with you." Esme mumbled, still glaring though. 

Tommy raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to take a deep breath and not yell at the women in his family. He knew they still clung to many of the Romani beliefs and superstitions. Something he had never truly believed himself. All those notions about luck and bad spirits and fate….as a young boy he had disregarded it and continued to ignore them for the most part. The only thing he did believe in was curses. 

When he no longer felt the urge to rampage through his own house, looking for his own wife, who was going to give birth to his own child, he lowered his eyes back to the women folk. Slowly he enunciated his next words, allowing his frustration to bleed over every syllable and hopefully make them realize how serious he was. "Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Tommy, you can't–" Polly stopped and looked back into the parlor room, clearly listening. With a grumble, she rolled her eyes and stepped to the side just enough to indicate her begrudging willingness for Tommy to enter. "She's asking for you."

With a nod at his aunt, he crossed into the parlor room, unsure exactly what he was stepping into but knowing he needed to be here. For both himself and you. 

What he saw both made his heart race and blood turn to ice. There you stood in front of the fireplace, still dressed in the loose nightgown. The firelight danced across you, highlighting your swollen belly and the sweat on your brow. Your hands tightly gripped the back of a wooden chair, your eyes pinched shut and a pained grimace on your face. 

"She's close. Won't be much longer now." Polly softly said, shifting to stand by Tommy's side. 

He nodded mutely at the same time your eyes slowly opened and turned to him. A stab to the gut, a bullet to the shoulder, anything would have been less painful. For it was the pain still obvious in your eyes and in every bead of sweat dotting your skin, that hurt to bear witness to. The worst was the small, shaky smile you gave him, the reassurance he needed when it should be the other way around. 

"Tommy…." You barely mouthed before pinching your eyes shut again and your lips pulled back in the grimace as the next wave of contractions slammed into your body. 

Immediately, Tommy moved. He shucked his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. In the next step, he moved behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "What can I do, darling? Please tell me I can help."

With the short reprieve between contractions, you leaned back, resting your head on his chest. "I'm fine."

He snorted. "You're in labor." His hand absent-mindedly ran along your side and towards your back. "How can I help?"

A soft sigh escaped you. "Right there. My lower back."

His hand returned to rubbing soothing circles and applying pressure against your lower back. In the next moment, you were leaning forward, gripping the chair with a death-like hold. 

He turned his focus onto his aunt, a new layer of fear and worry dripped into his blood like poison. "Shouldn't she be….screaming?"

"Some women handle pain, even labor pains, differently." Polly stared thoughtfully at you, someone the matriarch had stated was family even before you married Tommy. "You remember when she fell and got that gash on her arm. It bleed so much, I worried she'd pass out, but the whole time she never cried. Even when I stitched her up. Brave, foolish girl."

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as the memory swept over him. It was before your relationship became concrete, when the two of you were just friends but he wanted so much more. The story you had shared was that you tripped and fell. Later, he learned the whole truth from one of the Peaky boys. That a drunkard had knocked you down and spat on you because in his intoxicated state, he confused you for his wife who was  coming to retrieve him from the bar. The next day Tommy and his brothers paid the man a visit, educating him on what happens to those who hurt persons under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. 

"I need to check her." Polly said, drawing Tommy out of his memories and back into reality. 

Once the contraction ended, Tommy stepped back to roll up the sleeves of his shirt again while Polly checked your dialation. 

The matriarch smiled up at you. "You're just about there. You're doing so good, love."

You nodded, already leaning forward with the next onslaught of pain. 

"Tommy shouldn't be 'ere, s'not right." Esme said, taking a random scarf laying around and sliding her fingers through, making sure there were no knots. 

Tommy glared at her, his voice ice cold. "I'm not leaving me wife while she's in pain."

With a huff, Esme got up, muttering under her breath continuously as she stomped over and rummaged through her bag. 

Tommy swung his gaze back to his aunt. "Don't force me to leave. Please." He whispered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little boy. A vulnerability that had been shattered under the impact of his father's fists and the realization that the world did not care for lowlife scum like him and his family. But for this….for you, he would beg to not leave your side. 

Polly hesitated but something in his gaze, in his words, made her inhale sharply and nod. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of that long lost boy she had watched vanish before her eyes. "Alright, Tom, but when it's time, you do what I say. No questions asked."

"Yes, boss." 

She rolled her eyes, even as the corners of her lips tilted up. "I'll get the hot water and cloths ready."

As Polly headed towards the kitchen, Tommy returned to his spot behind his wife, rubbing your lower back and whispering encouragement. He knew enough from helping horses that nature would take its course and all one could do was wait. 

Esme came to his side, holding a comb. "Let me brush her hair, can't have any knots. It'll help bring luck."

For the next several minutes, Tommy and Esme worked on you. His fears continued to fester. It was obvious each contraction seemed to worsen. The few times a whimper escaped your lips, he pressed his face against your head, wishing he could take away your pain. He would give anything to alleviate your pain, to take it upon himself. But he could not. So he did what he could to help, even if he felt useless. Which irked him. Made his skin crawl at his own uselessness. Those stinging thoughts in his mind transformed into vultures, circling, circling, waiting to feast on his decaying sanity. 

What chewed away most at his confidence was how unresponsive you became as labor continued. He could still hear your breathing, could feel your heartbeat. But when Esme directed a question at you, it took several tries of your name before you responded. 

He could not help but wonder if your continued silence was better or worse than screaming. 

After some time, you stiffened. Your head shot up to where Polly had been standing, watching you with a hawk-like precision. 

"I pushed….I–I didn't mean to. It just happened–"

"Good girl, it's alright. That just means it's time." His aunt said calmly, then directed the others like the general she was. "Tommy, help her around. Sit down in that chair, I want her squatting in front of you. You'll support her. Esme, prepare the cloths." 

Tommy helped his wife quickly as his aunt directed. He sat down and spread his legs wide for you to squat between, facing outward. Pain seemed etched onto your beautiful face, your breathing shallow. Sweat coated your body. As soon as you were in position, you grabbed his hands, your arms over his thighs. He clutched your hands in return, hoping it brought you some idea of relief. 

Polly knelt in front of you. "Alright, love, push when your body tells you too."

Time was irrelevant as you worked and fought to bring your child into the world. Your grip on his hands was borderline crushing but he never thought to complain or try and pull away. He continued to whisper, his lips against your temple, tasting your sweat, embracing what pain he could, to try and take it from you. 

"I can't, Polly." You whimpered out after some time. The first words you had spoken since Tommy walked in a couple of hours ago. "I can't….I'm so tired."

His heart shattered like a glass window listening to you. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wished he could offer you some comfort, some relief, but this was your battle, and he was stuck on the sidelines. 

Polly's dark, knowing, eyes met yours. "Yes, you can. I promise. I can feel the head. You're almost there, love. A couple more pushes then you can meet your baby. Think about that. You can meet your babe in a few minutes. Don't give up."

You nodded before giving a grunt with the next contraction. 

"One more! The head almost came out!"  

Tommy pressed his lips to his wife's ear. "Let's meet our child, eh? My strong wife. Let's see our baby."

He wondered if you heard his words, if that was the encouragement you needed. For in the next instant, you let out a pained cry as your body shuddered. 

"Yes! One more! I've got the head!" Polly said, with her hands underneath your sweat-soaked nightgown. 

"Hear that? One more, my sweet darling. One more." Tommy crooned.

Then he heard it. The squelch. The flush. The sound of life entering the world. 

Immediately, you sagged in his arms, all energy drained, like a puppet with its strings cut. He grabbed a hold and fell with you to the ground, cradling you in his lap. Blood stained your dress and legs, soaking into his clothes but he did not even notice. His sole focus was on the rapid breathing of his wife, your eyes closed and lips pressed together. 

"Oh love, he's beautiful." Polly cooed as she cradled the bloody bundle in her arms. She used a different cloth to wipe away his face and head, a beaming smile on her face.

At her words, Tommy felt his heart miss a beat. A son. He had a son. 

"Open your eyes, love. Meet your son." Polly carefully knelt down, holding the baby. She placed the newborn on your chest. 

Even as shivers rocked through your body in response to the trauma it just experienced, your hands reflexively stilled as they cradled the newborn against you. 

"We need something of Tommy's to wrap him in!" Esme cried. 

"Me coat." He mumbled, eyes locked onto his son. Yet relief waited at the threshold, not quite ready to enter in and erase the fears and worries Tommy still harbored. 

Esme grabbed the coat, bringing it over and gently laying it over the baby and his wife's bloody, sweaty body. 

While you gazed lovingly down at the baby you had brought into the world, Tommy watched his aunt and Esme turn your body carefully and reach back under your nightgown. After several long moments, the faintest hint of concern slid off Polly's face. 

She glanced up at him, most likely feeling his gaze locked on her. "The afterbirth is out and her bleeding is already slowing down. She'll be alright, Tom. I promise."

And with that simple, reassuring promise, the foul air that filled his lungs with fear was knocked away with a swift kick. Relief finally crossed the threshold and anchored itself into his mind. His arms tightened around his still trembling wife. The emotional turmoil he had warred with throughout the day seeped out, leaving him emotionally exhausted. Yet through it all, he had never felt more alive. More hopeful. 

His focus dropped down to the baby on your chest, his little mouth opening and closing slowly and his tiny fingers twitching. A sense of awe and wonder crawled up his spine to twist around his heart. You, his beautiful wife, had given him a child. A single tear escaped his watery eyes and dropped into your hair but neither of you seemed to notice, too absorbed in the miracle you had created together. 

"You did it." He croaked out. "We've a son. Our son." 

"Our baby." You murmured.

As if hearing your words, the newborn opened his eyes….and Tommy thought he could drown into the vast blue of them. For they were his eyes staring back at him. 

At that moment, he knew he would do anything for his son. He thought he knew love when he gave his heart to you, when he allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with you in ways he had never been with anyone else. But this….staring into his son's eyes. It was a far different feeling than he expected. For you, his wife, he would sell his soul to the devil without a second thought to take care of you. But for his son, for this new babe in your arms that with a single look shook the foundations of his world, he would storm the gates of hell and rip the devil's heart out himself if anyone dared harm his child. 

"I love you." Tommy whispered as overwhelming emotions welled up in his chest, clinging to his throat, and threatening to escape in sobs of sheer relief and devotion. Instead he placed a kiss to your temple and ran a single finger over the top of his son's head. 

"I love you too, Tommy." You glanced up at him, from where you reclined against his chest, before turning back to your baby. "And we love you. Mummy and daddy love you so much."

Tommy stared down at his family, the love of his life and his newest reason to be better, to do better. His heart stretched and strained, trying desperately to fit the love overfilling it, just trying to accommodate it all somehow. 

As he continued to gaze down at his son while Polly helped you to try and feed him, he knew one thing for certain. What ruthlessness people thought he harbored was nothing compared to what would be unleashed if anyone dared to touch his family. A peaked cap or a bullet to the brain would be the least of their concerns. He would overthrow governments to keep his family safe. He would break countries to keep his family protected. Nothing was outside of the realm of possibility he would do. For as his love grew to encompass his new son, his need to see him and you safe mirrored it. Whatever it would take. He would see it done. 

For his wife and now his son were his guiding lights and he refused to allow anyone to put them out. 

Tag List:

Peaky Blinders- @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @minxsblog

The sound of their laughter above the crowd noise made the hair on the back of your neck bristle. After years of working at one of the one of two pubs in Rumcofa, you knew what that meant – they were all wasted, and ready to have a good laugh, at your cost, no less.

From your position behind the bar, you watch as they make their way to a table by the back. The two youngest, that you recognized as a very tipsy Cynlaef and an equally wasted Aethelstan, led the way, the former with a plastic crown on his head, barely hanging in place, as his friend ha his arms loose around his shoulder. The duo was closely followed by Uhtred, an obvious look of concern on his face, even from a distance, as he watched the younger boys; and then Osferth and Sigtryggr.

The last two members of the squad enter the pub, one of them patting the other on the shoulder and pointing in your direction. Separating from their troupe at the door, Sihtric and Finan make their way to the bar, sitting on the stools right in front of the beer tap you’re currently working at.  You’ve been through this drill before. You know exactly what’s going to happen next.

“Seven pints of beer, please”, Sihtric asks, knocking on the wooden bar twice. You’re able to hear a ruckus from the back booth, where the others have settled. The howls from Cynlaef very distinctive from the others.

“I see Cynlaef is enjoying his bachelor party”, you remark, filling the glasses “How’s the celebration going?”.

“It would’ve been much better if you had joined us”, Finan answers promptly. In your head, you were already counting the seconds until he’d start his attempts at flirting with you.

Overall, based on your line of work, you wouldn’t mind a bit of flirting. It actually helped with the tips. It happened almost nightly, the huge wedding ring on your finger not a hindrance, apparently. However, Finan was really bad at it, and not even his sexy irish accent could save him. So bad he could make even the most nefarious sailor cringe with embarrassment.

Leaning on the bar, Sihtric observes your interaction with his bearded friend, a smile already playing on his lips.

“So, how’s your night going?”, he asks, picking up one of the glasses you put in front of them.

“Well, I’m kinda bummed out I didn’t get to go out with my friends tonight, but my night’s been alright, lots of tips”, you answer him, pointing to the nearly full jar at the corner.

“It sucks that you’re having a bad night, huh. Meet me, and I will make sure it ends very good”, Finan says quickly, winking at you.

“Dude, that was really bad, even for you”.

“He has set very low standards”, Sihtric agrees with you.

“You should be helping me out, brother”, the Irishman turns to his friend, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Of course, I’m helping you. I’m writing everything down so I can publish it later”, he immediately replies. “The book will be titled ‘How to Not Get the Girl’”.

Finan refrains from answering, but the discontented look on his face makes it clear he didn’t find the joke funny.

The clatter of chairs falling above the crowd noise catches your attention. Turning in the direction of the noise, you see that Cynlaef had fallen off his stool, the crown he was wearing lost somewhere under the booths. Aethelstan was not much better, his face red as he points to his friend on the floor, clearly having fun at the cost of his friend’s misfortune. The one who didn’t seem to be having a good time was Uhtred, who was chastising the younger boys. In the meantime, you notice Sigtryggr walking away from the group, clearly trying to escape the embarrassment.

“You should go help your friends”, you suggest to the two men sitting in front of you, even though you had their order ready to go for a while now.

“Nah, they’re just fine without us”, Sihtric dismisses your suggestion with a hand gesture.

“Actually, I’m the one who needs help”, Finan starts “I’m a bit out of breath. Can you call the doctor? Tell him I lose my breath every time I look at you. Better call for a cardiologist too, because my heart somersaults every time you are near me!”.

“Oh, come on, that was a good one! Even you have to agree”, Sihtric exclaims facing you.  “It’s going in the book for sure, man!”.

Not to encourage him, you just roll your eyes, even though deep down you did agree. Instead, you just turn your attention to Osferth, who was hesitantly approaching the bar.

“Hi, can I please have one glass of whiskey? Neat. I think Uhtred is going to need it”, he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the man.

“Bold of you to show up here so soon after last time, Osferth”, you mention, preparing the drink he had ordered.

“It wasn’t my fault, ma’am, I swear! Those girls just went crazy for no reason”, he exasperates, the fear clear in his eyes.

“For a member of the cleric, you sure have caused a lot of confusion amongst the ladies around here, huh”, you observe, but before the man can defend his honour, Finan intrudes on the conversation.

“You know, unlike our baby monk here, I was never the most religious guy out there. But I was very impressed with God when I met you, he really made a masterpiece this time”.

This time you feel your face heat up at the commentary. He was really out-doing himself this time.

“How did you manage to get married being this bad flirt”, Osferth questions the Irishman incredulously.

“You gotta know what they like”, Finan laughs, and then turns to you. “See you tomorrow at the wedding, mo ghrá?”.

“I won’t be the one in white this time!”.

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

The sun was setting by the time Finan, with the help of a few cups of ale, had gathered enough courage to even contemplate approaching Ethy that evening.

The two bonfires had been blazing away for the past hour or so, the livestock had already been driven between the two fires and put back in their pens, allowing for feasting, drinking and dancing to take place for the rest of the night.  No doubt there would be a few sore heads in the morning, his own included.

Finan had been in a sombre mood since Uhtred had talked to him that afternoon, and all he had managed to do in the time since then, was work himself into a state of constant anxiety. He was halfway down his fourth, or was it his fifth? cup of ale already, and had been watching Ethy as she laughed and danced about the flames.  His breath had caught in his throat when he had first caught sight of her that evening.  She had chosen to wear one of her best dresses. It was one of his favourites on her, the light blue of the fabric perfectly matched her eyes.  A flower crown rested upon her head, and the way the oranges of the setting sun and the dancing flames shone off her hair made it look like she was glowing.  She looked stunning; he was content to watch her having her fun for a time, with a content smile on his lips, despite the guilt and nerves that were tugging at his heart.  He couldn't bring himself to ruin her good mood just yet.

But as the evening wore on, and the further down his ale he got, he realised the more he needed to talk to her, and that ever-present feeling of anxiety came clawing back, turning his stomach.

As the next dance came to its end and Ethy moved away to retrieve a drink, Finan decided that it was now or never.

Downing what remained of his own drink and casting the cup aside, he started making his way over to her. He swore he couldn't remember being this nervous before, even before marching off into battle.

She must have sensed his movement out of the corner of her eye; he was only a few paces away from her when she turned to look directly at him. He could only watch as the beaming smile that had occupied her face only moments before fell, replaced by what he could only hope was just a look of nerves. He absolutely hated it.

He wanted to be the one who made her smile, he wanted to be the reason she laughed until her eyes watered and her cheeks ached, and the reason her eyes lit up whenever he was close.  He wanted to be the one she turned to when she needed comfort, to be there for her and celebrate their triumphs together, to simply wake up and fall asleep next to her.  He wanted to be by her side through it all.  

He wanted everything with her.  

No matter how selfish he knew that was, especially given what he was about to tell her.  He had no right to wish for anything beyond forgiveness at this point.

Either way, he knew he still had to tell her, it wasn’t for him to decide what she deserved.  That was up to her now.

She offered him a small smile as he came to a stop a couple of paces from her.  He returned the smile, both of them knowing what was coming next wouldn't be easy.

"Can I talk to ya?  In private?"  He added, eyeing the group of elderly women who stood not far behind Ethy's left shoulder, not-so-subtly eavesdropping on their conversation.

She turned to follow his gaze, seeing the problem, before she faced him once more. 

"Sure." She nodded, walking away to the far end of the field where there were fewer people, not looking back to see if he followed.

They stopped about halfway down the field, the blazing fires still in view, the noise of the festivities echoed faintly down to them, but they were far enough away not to be interrupted.

Ethy turned to him, a faint blush on her cheeks, avoiding his eye.

"Ethy, I…"

"Wait", She interrupted.  "I just wanted to say I'm sorry.  I asked you to talk about something you were not ready to talk of, and I shouldn't have pushed you to.  It was insensitive of me.  Heaven knows you were patient enough with me!  I am sorry - truly I am.  You do not have to tell me anything you do not want to, but I will be here to listen when and if you are ever ready to do so…"

Shaking his head at her, he gently took her by her shoulders to steady her.  How could she believe she was at fault for any of this?  It was his own behaviour that was out of line for the way he reacted, and yet she was the one who felt the need to apologise to him.

"None of this is your fault, ya don't need to apologise for anythin'."  He told her vehemently, his eyes boring into hers.

She merely blinked back at him, not expecting such a strong reaction.  Whatever had been bothering him, it had him tense, coiled like a spring.  She could sense the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

Realising he had been staring at her for a little longer than was probably appropriate, and noticing his grip on her shoulders had become a little too tight, Finan let her go, took a step back and cleared his throat.

"What can I do to help?"  She asked, her eyes rounded with concern.

He ran a hand through his beard as he recentered himself.

"Just listen to what I have to tell ya' and don't ask questions until I'm done.  And know that whatever you decide after this… I'll completely understand."

"Ok…" She agreed hesitantly.

With a final nod of his head, Finan steeled himself, his eyes darting from her toward the festivities at the far end of the field, not sure he could look her in the eye as he laid his secrets out for her.

"My past - my life in Ireland was not a pretty one, and I have done some stupid and unforgivable things."  He paused, trying to collect himself.  He looked down when he felt something brush against his hand to find Ethy had taken it in her own, giving it a soft squeeze.  His gaze rose to her face, where a soft encouraging smile pulled at her lips. He could do this.  He had to do this.  For her.  He squeezed her hand in return.

"I was a Prince in one of the kingdoms, I was set to inherit the throne.  I did no' want any of it.  My whole life had already been planned out for me.  I had an arranged marriage, to a lass named Riona, we were both young and neither of us loved each other, but we had our duty to fulfill and she was a kind woman…" his heart dropped when he felt Ethy's hand pull from his own.

"You were married?"  She gasped.

"Aye", He huffed, his heart constricted knowing that what he was to tell her next would only hurt her more.  "Married with two sons."  Tears rose unbidden to his eyes at the thought of the two young boys he had left behind, forced to grow up fatherless, if his brother had allowed them to survive.  All because of his stupid mistakes.  His own selfish heart.  He gritted his teeth to stop the tears from falling, swallowing the lump he could feel starting to form in his throat.  He had more of his story to tell yet.

He watched as Ethy's breathing picked up slightly, her eyes fixed on a patch of grass at her feet.  She dragged her bottom lip through her teeth, as she was often prone to do when in deep thought.  Eventually, she looked at him, opening her mouth as if to ask something before seeming to think better of it, letting out a sigh.  Her arms folded across her middle, and after a minuscule nod of her head, her gaze settled somewhere over his left shoulder, not quite looking directly at him, but it was enough that he took it as his sign to continue.

"Like I said, neither of us loved each other… she did no' deserve what I put her through.  None of 'em did."  His accent grew thicker, regret dripping from every word.

"A few years down the line, my brother, Conall, introduced us to his new wife; A dairy maid from one of the local towns.  Her name was Aine.  I fell so hard and fast for her.  We were so convinced we loved each other.  But I was young, and I was a fool.  A stupid, stupid fool.  We knew we could no' be happy together in the castle.  So we made plans to run away together.  We headed south, we lasted three days before they caught us and dragged us back in chains."  His expression turned dark in that moment, the demons that had been torturing him for so long showing themselves in his face.

"I abandoned everythin' - my duty, my wife, my sons.  And for what? A selfish, hopeless dream of a life I knew would not last."  Bitterness laced his words.

"What happened?  After you were caught?"  Ethy asked shyly, almost dreading the answer.  

"We were imprisoned for a time."  He started flatly.  Watching his memories play back behind his eyes, it was almost as if it had happened to someone else.  But the feelings were still raw, even now.  He clenched his eyes shut, wanting to banish the images from his mind. 

"We were eventually dragged into the court, where I was made to watch as she was flogged.  They would not stop, no matter how much I begged them to, they did not stop.  They eventually slit her throat.  My brother called it mercy - an execution for treason.  Her screams will forever haunt me.  I did that to her.  It was my actions that resulted in her death.  He took the crown and my wife as his own.  I don't know if he kept my sons alive or not - they would have a rightful claim to the throne, with luck they might have been put in a monastery somewhere.  You already know how he saw fit to punish me."  The tears were freely running down his face now, a cynical smile curling at the corner of his lips.

A look of realisation swept over Ethy's features.  "The slave ship."

He nodded.  "Aye.  Three Winters pulling at the oar, spending every minute regretting and paying for what I did.  It didn't feel like enough.  It will never be enough."

A silence fell between the two of them, even the noise from the festivities seemed dimmed.

Ethy sighed through her nose, and turned to face him fully, her arms still crossed protectively across her chest.  The shock that had filled her eyes had mostly drained away, leaving behind a sadness that Finan didn't know how to respond to. He looked away.

"Finan, look at me."  She asked gently.

"Look at me."  She repeated, firmer this time when he refused.

As soon as his eyes connected with hers, he saw a fire ignite behind her irises he had not expected.  She took a step closer to him.

"This is why you ran from me, wasn't it?  Not because you did not wish to tell me, but because you are still carrying the guilt of what happened on your shoulders.  Because you think that you do not deserve happiness, even when it is standing right in front of you, just waiting for you to take it."

It would never cease to amaze him how effortlessly she could get straight to the heart of the matter.  How it was that she could cut through all the information he had loaded her with, for her to shove aside her own feelings and opinions and hit the nail on the head so accurately.

He did not know what to say to her, after letting the floodgates open, it was as if all his words had finally run dry.  Any words he had thought to say only got stuck in his throat.  So he remained silent, his jaw clenching so tight it was almost painful.

Ethy finally took that final step closer to him, so close that he had to look down to see her face properly.  Her arms unfolded and she placed both hands on his cheeks, her thumbs wiping away the tears that had settled there.  He could not help but lean into her touch.

"The man I know deserves more happiness than I can ever express.  The man who is so brave, so loyal.  The man who loves with such a big heart and so wholly that he would sacrifice everything to protect his friends and family.  That man does not deserve punishment or to spend the rest of his days alone.  He deserves every ounce of respect, adoration and love.  And I give that to you unreservedly and in abundance."

Finan could hardly believe what he was hearing, his heart racing hardly daring to hope that after everything… his breath stuttered at the thought. He gently grabbed her wrists, leaning his face away from her grasp.

"I abandoned my family - that is no small thing."  He reminded her.  Fresh tears welled in his eyes, and yet he could not help the small spark of hope he could feel arising in his chest.

Ethy only calmly held his gaze, no trace of bitterness, hatred, or blame to be found.

"And would you abandon us?  My family and I?  Your friends?"  She let him hold her wrists between his hands, his grip turning as hard as his gaze at her question. 

"There is no force on heaven or earth that could get me to leave your side." 

That was a vow she believed.

She nodded with a smile. "I know." She whispered. "Finan - I will not hold you to a mistake you made in your youth, especially one made in the name of love.  We both know what it is like to be held captive to our fates, to do our duty.  Now we are free to go where we please, to do as we please."  She shifted her hands so that she held his between her own, squeezing them tight. "To love where we please."

His heart was fit to burst, tears falling freely down his face as disbelief drowned him.  He held nothing but love for this unbelievable, incredible, beautiful woman before him.

"Thank God for you."  He breathed.

Ethy laughed, a few tears of her own burning in her eyes.  He looked as if the world had been taken off his shoulders, his relief palpable.  

Finan bent his head forward, resting his forehead against hers, eyes falling closed, as they both took in the moment.

"I love you", He heard her whisper.  He opened his eyes, finding her already watching him, at this distance, he was able to find every shade of blue in her eyes.

"And God only knows how much I love you, mo grá."

And he could no longer contain himself.  He leant in, crashing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss, pouring every emotion he could not put into words into the action. One of his hands moved to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair and her flower crown became askew at the movement.

She responded to the kiss with equal passion, her now free hand gripping his shoulder to steady herself.  She could taste the remainder of sweet ale on his lips, mixed with the salt of his dried tears, but it was perfect nonetheless.  Neither of them wanted to be the first to part.

Eventually, the need to breathe started burning their lungs, forcing them to part.  They remained close, he nuzzled his nose against hers, their laboured breathing mingling in the space between them and a grin spread across his lips as he observed the pretty shade of pink she had turned.  He stole another peck from her.  And another, and another.  Absorbed in the taste of her sweet lips.

As he was about to steal another kiss from her, he felt Ethy’s fingers press against his lips, preventing him from going any further.

She giggled as he proceeded to pout against her fingers.

"I believe you still owe me a dance."  She raised an eyebrow at him.

He hummed, pulling up to his full height and moving to straighten the crown of flowers that still lay crooked on her golden locks.

"I suppose I do."  He smirked, his tone low, and rich as velvet. With exaggerated movements he stepped backwards, immediately missing her warmth, he bowed low and offered his hand.

"Would you do me the honour?"

Ethy failed miserably at containing her smile at his antics.  With a laugh she curtsied, delicately placing her hand in his own.  "I would love to."

She turned, pulling him by the hand to walk back up the field toward where the two fires were still blazing, the flames reaching toward the inky sky now filled with stars.  She stopped abruptly when he did not move, and instead, he pulled her backwards, causing her to trip lightly into his chest.

"Should we not go back to the festival?"  She asked in confusion.

He shook his head lightly.  "I have everythin' I need righ' here." 

He lifted their joined hands, and turned her so that she spun under his arm, before coming to rest in front of him, his other arm coming to rest comfortably around her waist.  They shared a soft smile.  

He held her close as he began to rock them back and forth, dancing together to music only they could hear.

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

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

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The land inside these city walls brings too much bitterness, the name of the city itself felt like a lemon on Uthred’s tongue. That was the reason why he wasn’t glad to be in Winchester at all. This very road is the road he and Brida first entered the city by and his path had started. These very people, never seeing him as part of their life, he was a Dane, he still is, even after saving Wessex more times than any Wessex’s King had, he still a Dane in their eyes. But, of course, a Dane they are happy to see. 

The nice tavern where he was drinking till he saw the stars flying in the bright blue sky, the house his family lived in - everything was giving him a heartache. 

“Lord?” Finan pulled the hand and squeezed Uthred’s shoulder, shaking his unconscious mind. “‘S everythin fine?” 

Uthred blinked a few times, trying to hold back emotions overwhelming his mind completely, standing so near the house his wife and his children lived in when the time was… better? “Yes, I’m fine, let’s go”

“Will we stop at the tavern or do we go straightforward to Edward?” Irishman glanced over Uthred’s face, tracing the fading look of distress. Oh he knew Uthred hated meetings with Edward. Treating his family line well enough, the bastard was even more stubborn than his father was. Probably his mother’s fault. 

“We go to Edward, faster we get there, faster we get to the tavern.” To tug a silly smirky smile was an act of hard work, but Uthred wanted to prove Finan he was fine. 

By the time they came to the King’s Palace, there were only two of them, Osferth was lost out of sight, probably tangled in women’s hands trying to get him into their bed, and Sihtric, well, Sihtric was roaming the main market in search for something Sig asked him to buy. 

When Uthred got lost again, in the scents and buildings of the past, and bumped into someone in the street, Finan took him by the hands. “I’m not sure everythin's fine, lord.” 

That silly smirk on Uthred’s face appeared once again, but died down as soon as he looked his friend in the eyes. 

“There’s nothing good left here.” Uthred rolled his eyes after a brief look around. Finan had noticed the little shrug his lord and friend’s face tried to hide. “Every good thing in this city is gone now, Winchester only causes me pain.”

“I don’t believe there’s nothin that can bring you joy?”

“There’s nothi…» Uthred shifted on his legs, looking past Finan into the crowd. “Nothing.”

“Lord?” 

Uthred shook off Finan’s hands and slid into the crowd like a ghost, making his way through all the people till he was standing a foot away from the man that caught his attention. 

It was like seeing a ghost from the past. Uthred’s knees weakened at once and he almost found himself on the ground if not for Finan’s hand, catching him under an armpit, and trying to catch a glimpse of Uthred’s thankful smile, or something else that would have tell Irishman he’s still with him here, and not roaming the bitter tasted memories once again. He felt Uthred’s grasp been wrapped tight around his hand, helping him to stand, but his eyes were focused on that mysterious man Finan had no idea why intrigued his friend so much. While Finan was hoping to see Uthred’s face smiling at him softly, Uthred heard his heart throbbing in his ears louder with every step, with every oddly familiar detail of that man. 

Uthred was shifting on his feet, and have you ever saw Uthred of Bebbanburg, Uthred the Godless, the DaneSlayer staying nervous like a little girl, eyes grazing the tall figure in front of him in search of any hints of why his legs had drove him to this man. 

“No…” he muttered in disbelief, eyebrows raised, giving his face such softness you wouldn’t have seen so often. “It cannot be…” tracing the so familiar features, the mannerisms he knew so well and finally his eyes fell on the weapon the man possessed. 

Uthred’s eyes fell on the ax that was hanging on the man’s belt, and he felt his heartbeat cease. The ax he saw almost twenty years ago and the cross that had been carved into the wooden grip right before Uthred’s own eyes. 

The flashbacks wave covered Uthred whole, the pictures of the little hut, a firepit barely heating the cold bitter air, Iseult sitting next to him and the sour conversation with Eanflaed. The memory so soft and harsh at the same time, Uthred didn’t know how to shake it off. He didn’t notice his fingertips touching the cold metal of the ax, and the same second as he did, he felt the sharp point of a sword resting on his throat. 

“What do you want from me?!” The heavy voice snapped Uthred back to reality and he stepped back from the tension of the sword on his neck. 

“You better to put down your sword boy…” Finan sneered, unpleasant by the possible danger to Uthred. He placed his blade atop and moved it away from Uthred’s throat. But Uthred waved him off, demanding him to put his sword back into its scabbard. “Lucky you, but don’t make me draw my sword a second time.”

The man’s face was untouched by Finan’s mocking, he drilled Uthred’s instead, not breaking eye contact once. “What do you want? Wanted to steal my ax? Not look like a thief to me.” 

Uthred ducked back, holding his hands slightly up, so the man could see he wasn’t trying to defend himself. “N-no,” he breathed, shaking, still not quite believing in what he was seeing. “This ax, I know it, I mistook you for another person, you just look exactly like him.”

“Like who?” He still held his sword before Uthred’s chest, though people around the square started chattering and a few guards were looking at them, touching the hilts of their swords. 

“Uthred, we’r wastin time, remember what you said? Sooner we meet Edward, sooner we meet our ale. Savvy?” Finan repeatedly pointed to the king’s hall and to the tavern, looking tiresome. 

Suddenly, the sword vanished from Uthred’s throat, it gnashed on the stony steps of the palace’s stair. 

“Uthred?” the man craned his neck to look up Uthred closely, as if he hadn’t been studying him this all time. “You are Uthred? Of Bebbanburg?”

“Lord Uthred for you, boy.” Finan tugged a sly smile, peering at the man from under his brows. 

Uthred hissed at him, and Finan put his hands up in a mocking way. He was silent for a heartbeat and then looked into the soft brown eyes of the boy next to him, not noticing how his own eyes were covered with a veil of tears. “I am, and you?”

“Osgar, lord. You, you knew my father” the man was a huge pal, but he was quivering, cracking on the word father. 

Uthred lost any words as his mind became empty in a matter of seconds, letting the picture of his long lost best friend took all the room inside his head. His jaw fell open as he cupped his face in his palms, looking at Osgar with ashy, marble eyes. That was the moment Finan saw the first tear breaking through and rolling down Uthred’s cheek. 

“You’re Leofric’s boy…” From fighting the painfully sour urge to cry, the words that came out of Uthred's mouth were creaky. “You look just like him.”

Not even thousands of horses could stop Uthred from pulling Osgar into the bear's embrace, clutching his body as he once did with his father's. His fingers creaking on the leather of Osgar’s mail, and Osgar drowning in the fur of Uthred’s cloak - the hug was so desperate, it screamed of tears, of pain and friendship. 

They could stay there forever, sniffling, tearing up, but the man showed up, calling Uthred to haste and see the King. 

Uthred teared himself off Osgar and cupped his face softly, clapping his cheek with one palm. “Meet me in the tavern after the witan is over.” He smiled wildly, and Osgar nodded. He then turned to Finan, taking SerpentBreath out of her scabbard and giving her to the palace’s guard. “Find Osferth, tell him to meet us in the tavern later.”

The witan was dull. Not cause Uthred’s head was busy thinking about Osgar and Leofric, feeling sharp stones filling his chest on every thought about his long lost friend. Not only cause of this, but because witan were always dull. What was the point of talking about bridges, and trading, convincing Edward that Sigdryggr was a friend and he did want peace, if he could lead yourself into the middle of a snowstorm, letting the wet, huge flakes of time long past stick to him, into the snowstorm of warm feelings and lovely old times blooming in his mind like the flowers in the spring. Uthred wanted witan to end, sooner the better, he had a far more significant person waiting for him in a tavern. 

He bursted out of the King’s Palace like water bursting from the cliff into the lake, each and every step making earth shake under his feet. In his mind, he already had answered all of the Osgar’s questions, covered all the topics he could even think of, Uthred was so happy to see the face that reminds him of the good old times, he almost forgot to take back SerpentBreath from the palace’s guard, but his enthusiasm vanished as soon as he bumped into the tavern’s door.

The cacophony of the thoughts and inner voices in his mind turned into empty nervous silence. He’d been staring at the wooden door for a long ten minutes, catching glimpses of Osgar and Finan sitting inside, at the corner table. People were looking at him with curiosity, some making jokes about fighting the wine problems and how they knew the feeling, but Uthred was only shifting from one foot to another, until he finally tugged a firm smile and opened the door.

“So, you are here!” He sat himself into a chair, across from Osgar, who was sitting on the other side of the table. Osgar already ordered a few cups of ale to be served, so when Uthred came, he didn’t need to wait too long to ease his throat. 

“Tell me about my father!” Uthred didn’t get a chance to even take a sip of ale, the boy started piercing him with questions from the moment Uthred sat down. 

The warm smile spread on his face, as he leaned on the armrest of his chair, gulping from the cup. Osgar was twitching on the edge of his chair, seeing the glimpses of fire in Uthred’s eyes.

“You father was the biggest pain in the ass, boy,” he put down the cup lazily and then rapidly bent in two, laying his elbows on the table. “but there wasn’t any man I trusted the most. Not once I trusted him with my life, and he never, never failed me. He risked his life for me and I don’t know how and why have I deserved this from him, cause it’s me who always was a pain in the ass, honestly.” he poured the dry, gloomy laughter down with a huge gulp of ale, eyes looking empty, aiming the wall behind Osgar’s head. “He was my first friend in these lands, without any reason, he’d always been there with me when I needed him, until he wasn’t.”

For a few moments there was silence. Osgar gave Uthred the time in peace, battling his own emotions, because the tears are always hard to stop from falling. Uthred lips were set in the firm line, twitching and he had to bite them on the inside to stop, to distract his brain from the pain the memory had offered him. When he laughed at the thought he had, Osgar saw the trace of blood running out of his mouth, and Uthred wiped it out with his wrist.

“When I was on my deathbed, a few years ago, my Gods decided to torture me, they could make me see so many people I have failed, my whole family that I lost and then failed on so many levels, but they decided to show me Leofric…” Finan, who was sitting in silence this whole time, shrugged on the memory, picturing dying Uthred having visions so painful that he wanted his life to end. “He was talking to me when I was unable to even speak. He was making an enemy out of me and that was my Gods wanted, to make me squeal from pain, and I did”

“My father? He would never!” Osgar seemed to be offended by Uthred’s words, he never knew his father, but he wanted to believe Leofric would never hurt someone he loved and cared about. And Uthred was the one. “He would never hurt you like this!”

“I betrayed everything he believed in! I betrayed England, I betrayed my king, I fucking panched Alfred, put the knife to his neck, I betrayed his faith…” he was looking into the almost empty cup, circling it in his fingers. “Did I said until he wasn’t’?” Osgar looked at him in question, slowly nodding. “Forget it, he’s always here, always here when I need him, always give me councile, I’m not always listening and then fuck up hugely, cause Leofric’s always right…” Uthred brought his weary stare at Osgar, eyeing his every inch. “Where have you been all these years? You have to be twenty… six?”

“You have a keen memory, Lord.” Osgar smiled, waiting for the additional question he was sure was about to be asked.

“I tried to find your mother, but I failed.”

It was Osgar’s time to look into an empty cup, smiling with the corners of his lips while in his eyes only gloom and sadness rested. “She fled from Winchester after my father’s death. She had no strength to live there in the town full of people who knew him so well, asking her, paying their condolences each and every time they met her on the street, it was all way too painful for her. And she just fled.” he waved to the barmaid and continued, waiting for the next cups to arrive at their table. “We’ve been living in a little village near Ethandun, just so we can always visit him. His grave, Lord, it’s like one of an ealdorman,”

“I ordered it. I told you, he was one of the greatest men I’ve ever met in my life.” Uthred took the ax Osgar lay on the table near him, following the old carving with his thumb, memory flashing the pictures from the hut once more. “How is she now, your mother?”

Osgar shrugged, pulling away the empty cup. “She passed away a few months ago, that’s why I’m finally here.”

Uthred’s brows knit together as he covered Osgar’s hand with his own. “I’m so sorry to hear that…”

“She’d been sick since I was a boy, I’d been looking after her till she passed.” Osgar’s eyes once become filled with light and joy. “She’s finally with him, with my father, I buried her near him, so they are both in peace now.”

After a few moments more cups of ale were put down on the table and everyone had their turn to drink, Uthred fell forward on his hands, drilling young Osgar. “So, you came here to follow your father’s steps?”

“Aye, lord, though Edward I don’t much like.” he gulped from the cup, looking around in hope nobody heard him except Uthred and Finan.

“Then you’re truly following his steps.” Uthred laughted out, pointing out to the boy that Leofric despised Alfred by all means, but still was one of the most loyal men to the King in the whole Kingdom. “What about following his other steps?”

“W-which?” Osgar bent his head on the side, being quite intrigued by Uthred’s proposal. He held his cup just under his lips, being caught in the middle of the drink.

“Come with me! Live with us, my people will be happy to have you, are you, Finan?” anf Finan Ayed, laughing, clasping his jug with one of Uthred. “See? your father lived with me the whole time I knew him, so my doors are always open for you.”

“I… I… I don;t know what to say, honestly, I never thought of–”

“Lord, you’ve asked for me?” the moment so pure was ruined by one baby monk busting into the tavern, looking around in horror. “They nearly killed me, the girls!” Finan almost choked on the ale from the ugliest laugh, waving to Osferth to come and seat by.

“Osferth! Come here quickly, come, come, come!” Uthred was patting the seat next to him, eyes just so sly and cunny, Osferth backed up when he saw the stare. “Don’t you recognise the guy?”

Osferth seated down, still looking rather uneasy with the way Uthred was looking at him. He eyed Osgar and shook his head. “Have we ever met?”

And Uthred burst into laughter, pulling Osferth closer, wrapping his hand around the monk's shoulder. The nervous smile was stretching on Osferth's face, and he looked at Finan pazzled. 

“Let me introduce you, my boy, Osgar, your cousin!” 

Osferth, being drinking the ale already, gugged on the liquid and started coughing, not knowing on whom to look, Uthred or his knewfounded cousin. “My cousin?!”

“Osgar is Leofric’s son, and Osferth,” Uthred turned to Osgar, gesturing to his coughing friend. “is the son of your father’s sister,” he tilted forward, and by twitching his fingers he asked Osgar to bend over the table. “and Alfred’s bastard son” he whispered, hiding his mouth with the palm. 

For the few heartbeats the two men were studying each other in silence, they eyes squinting and widening with every second.

“You do look like Leofric a lot…” Osferth breathed out, mind frozen by the unexpected knews, but his chest was fire, it was hot like the stones on the summer day, spreading the warmth through his entire body.

“So?” Uthred put the jug on the table, making both Osgar and Osferth look at him. “Will we celebrate the new family member this week at Cookham or not?”

Osgar was twitching on the edge of his seat again, trying to die the ugliest smile he could ever stretch on his face down, looking from Uthred to Osferth and to Finan, who was happily drinking his ale. “You will!”

Thank you for reading this one! I'm happy I actually finally posted it ah ah Hope you liked it ❤

TLK taglist: @thespiritoflife @lauwrite1225 @mrsalwayswrite @kingslionheart @cxrgans @magravenwrites @the-irish-girl @katbookwurm @morosemagick @lllostgirlll (cause I'm bold to assume you're maybe interested lmao)

Leofric taglist: @valhallasubstitute

“Uhtred,” Beocca sighs, holding a hand up to his forehead. “Uhtred…I do not understand why you cannot grasp this concept. It is literally a big cat. A very big, very dangerous cat.”

“But cats are all small and rude, Beocca! Some of them are useful for catching mice and things, and some are good for cuddling, but I’ve never met a scary one. They’re no bigger than my boots!”

“But not these cats, Uhtred! They weigh hundreds of pounds and have claws that can tear through a man’s flesh easier than a sword!”

Uhtred starts to respond again, and Beocca groans in frustration. “He never listened to me as a child, either,” he grumbles to Osferth and then elbows him. “You try explaining this to him, maybe he’ll understand it coming from someone other than me.”

Osferth shrugged and raised his hands to hold them like paws, and attempted to growl and mimed swiping his claws at his fearless leader. “Roaaaaaaaar -“