#mzwrites

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

He had been back for a few days but this was the first time he had been able to sneak away from under his family's excited gaze. 

At twenty now, there was no question that he was a man grown. He stood taller than most men and while he may not be as wide and bulky as some Highlanders, he was by no means scrawny either. His skill with a sword and pistol had grown exponentially to where he was considered quite talented in both.

And while his body had matured into a strong, able-bodied man, it was his mind which had changed the most. He was more educated, more knowledgeable, yet with that, experience had taught him far more than books ever could. A stain upon his soul was never far from his thoughts. The men he had killed in combat had bled out what last naivety still lingered in his blood. The corruption he had seen. The abuse and torment people endured under the care of those supposed to take care of them. How easy it was for the strong to overpower the weak and steal from them. 

Jamie promised himself, he would never. Perhaps it was a romanticized view of himself, but he swore to defend those who needed it. 

Yet as he walked, growing closer and closer to the loch, to the place he had spent so much time, he could not help the worries and doubts that plagued him. It had been three years since they last said their farewells. Three years since she kissed his cheek. Three years since he promised to return soon. 

A promise which he had broken, even if it was no fault of his own. 

He approached the water, a stillness hung over the hidden place, that he could not recall before. It had always been his sanctuary, a place of peace. Now it felt like the calm before the storm. Carefully, he reached out and touched the water, stirring it with his fingers. 

"Jamie?"

His head whipped up….only for his jaw to drop and his heart to lurch out of his chest. 

For there she stood before him, her black hair cascading down her lithe body, those mesmerizing eyes staring at him. How beautiful she was, standing there with the faint sunlight trickling through the trees, how glorious and devastatingly perfect. Her beauty hit him anew. Had she always been so stunning? He thought in all the time he had been away, he could remember how gorgeous she was, but seeing her now, it was as if he had only remembered a hazy dream version of her and now the true, authentic person stood before him….his memory could not hold a candle to the dazzling creature she was. 

"Jamie? Is it truly you?"

He stood up, even while his legs felt a bit shaky. "Aye. I promised I'd return to ye."

In the next moment, her warm body slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and almost knocking them to the ground. Yet his arms instinctively banded around her, drawing her closer to him, just as hers did the same. He found himself placing his lips against the top of her head, whispering reassurances to her in Gaelic. 

And with her in his arms, it felt like a missing piece was slotted back into place in his heart. 

"You returned."

"Aye, I promised ye, lass. Did ye doubt me?"

"No….I thought you had forgotten about me."

"Never." He growled. "I could ne'er forget aboot ye. I'd sooner forget my name and my clan than ever lose my memories of ye."

In response, her arms tightened around him and she buried her face against his chest. 

"I canna stay long. My Da will come looking for me. But tomorrow, I promise ye, tomorrow I'll return, aye? I'll stay wi' ye the whole night."

"Truly?"

"Aye." As he spoke, the plan formulated in his mind. "I'll sneak away once everyone is asleep, then I'll return before dawn. They'll no' ken."

He could sense the hesitation in her, unsure if the concern was for himself or for her. Boldly, he cupped her cheek, forcing her gaze to meet his. For a long moment, he was lost there, trapped in her eyes that were the most exotic and beguiling thing he had ever seen. Mentally shaking himself, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and almost lost it once again with the realization of how soft and smooth her skin was. The urge to touch her fair skin with his lips overwhelmed him. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, needing the distraction. "It'll be safe. Ye trust me?" 

"Yes."

That word undid him. To see the absolute trust in her eyes, with no form of guile or hesitation. To know she truly believed in him, even after all these years. 

Before he could overthink it, he gave into the desire, the siren's call. He placed his lips against her brow, lingering there. With that simple, reassurancing action, he wondered if he had made a mistake. For with the touch, his body rebelled at the idea of drawing away, of leaving her embrace, of removing himself from her touch, of separating from her moonlight skin and the intoxication that she was. He had heard and seen men driven to do unimaginable things, all for the love and need of drink, 'an addiction' as his educated mind supplanted. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this simple, chaste kiss to her brow would be his own. 

*****

Long after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon the next day, he returned. A blanket was rolled up under his arm, along with a half-full bottle of whiskey he had pilfered from his father's stash, and some bannocks left over from supper. 

To his surprise, the small loch was not as dark as he had come to expect. Under the moonlight, the water seemed to faintly glow, casting a cool light around the water's edge. 

Looking around, he did not spy her anywhere. "Lass?" He called out, frustrated he still did not know her name. 

With no response, concern slipped under his skin, but he tried to pay it no mind. She would come. She had to. Ears straining for any little sound of her, he tried to focus on setting up the blanket and offerings on the ground. In the back of his mind, he could not help but think how this could look like he was preparing for a picnic with the lass he was courting. The image crossed his mind before he could completely push it away or over-analyze it. 

"Jamie."

He spun around quickly, heat flooding his face at the thought of courting and picnics and then hearing his name. At the sight before him, the heat swiftly slithered down his face to coil tightly in his gut, answering the summoning of his cock which had abruptly awoken. 

Could he ever get used to her astounding beauty? Standing there in the moonlight, she glowed, even more so than the water around her ankles. The sweet smile directed straight at him, eyes alight with joy, made his stomach flip and his heart pound ceaselessly. Ah Dhia. She was radiant. 

Her smile further grew, an almost bashfulness to it, as she tucked her dark hair behind her ear. 

Realization slammed into him that he had been standing there gaping at her for an obscenely long time. He coughed, clearing his throat then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassment replacing the prior heat that had settled in his belly. "Hello, sorry, ye just…" 

She laughed and Jamie swore his heart skipped a beat at the sound. 

"What is this?" She asked once she drew to his side, eyeing the blanket and offerings. The coy smile never left her face. 

"Ah," his cheeks warmed once again, embarrassment making him second guess his actions. Would he ever not embarrass himself around her? "I reckoned this would be better….um, more comfortable, ye ken? For listening to my stories. I didna mean–" 

But as he inelegantly rambled, she gracefully took a seat on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her. "I have never reclined on a blanket before." She ran her hand over the coarse wool material, a forlorn thoughtfulness in her eyes. A look that made Jamie's heart clench and the desire to remove it overwhelming. 

"Weel, it's no' the best but it'll do the job."

"Tis perfect." She looked at him demurely. "Shall you share of your adventures now?"

And he did. 

They spent the next few hours talking while sharing the blanket along with the food and drink. Jamie told her everything he could remember about Castle Leoch- the stables he worked in and the horses there, about training with the sword under his Uncle Dougal's unwavering eye, about the castle grounds and the wee bit of mischief he caused there. He spoke more of France- of the boat trip there that made him terribly ill, about the books he studied, about his uncle Jared and his wine business, how Jamie helped out some and learned even more. He spoke of the friends he made and the people he disliked. He even confessed to sharing a few kisses with a lass in France, although both knew it would not lead to anything more. 

All the while, she listened ardently. Her gaze was locked on him, soaking in every word he spoke. A few times she asked questions and always laughed when he shared particularly humorous stories. Yet even as the moon rose higher, her attention never strayed from him. 

It was a heady sensation, to be the sole focus of this stunning woman. Jamie lapped up her attention, silently realizing the true extent of how much he missed her during his time away. She was more than just a friend, but also a confidante, someone he shared a special connection with. 

At the end of his tale, they laid on the blanket facing one another, the whiskey bottle empty and the food gone. Jamie was unable to tear his gaze away from her. During the later part of his story, their fingers had become entangled in the space between them. His other hand propped up his head, mirroring her, but his body was hyper aware of her touch, of his thumb rubbing along the kitten-soft skin on the inside of her wrist. His head buzzed and he was uncertain if it was due to the whiskey or her. Now with only the sounds of the forest around them, a tension built up between them, slowly growing thicker and thicker like a fog. In that tension was the desire to scoot closer and kiss her….and with the way she was looking back at him, he thought she may want him too. 

"You experienced quite an adventure." 

He hummed in response, his mind still absorbed in the idea of pressing his lips against hers and never needing to breathe anything other than her for the rest of his life. 

"What holds your future now?"

"I dinna ken." He huffed, shifting his gaze to the star-studded sky. "My uncle wishes for my return to France. My family wants more for me and I…" He trailed off as he scrubbed a hand over his face. A squeeze of their linked hands had him turning back to look at her. "I dinnae wish tae leave again."

"You shall know how to respond when Fate knocks on the door of your future."

"Did ye?"

"Fate chose for me." She whispered after a long pause. "And I find these past several years have not been as….lonely."

That quiet admission stroked his ego but also further fed his self-made commitment to not leave her alone. 

A sudden idea came to mind that caused him to smile brightly and jump up to his feet with all the grace of a hyper puppy. He stood at the end of the blanket, the smile never leaving his countenance even as she stared at him with a blend of confusion and hints of concern. Bending at the waist, he gave a courtly bow that sent her into giggles. Then he held out his hand towards her. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

A streak of shock shot across her upturned face. "I do not know how."

"I'll teach ye." He leaned forward a little and dropped his voice conspiracingly. "Dinna fash, it's only us. There's no one to judge."

"Well, my lord, how could I refuse?" 

She slipped her hand in his, letting him help guide her to her feet and off the blanket. With soft words of encouragement and placing her hands in the proper places, Jamie slowly led her in a court dance he had learned in France. The movements were slow but their bodies were close. That intoxication he experienced anytime he touched her hit him anew. His mind swung on a pendulum, on one hand trying to be the patient teacher and instruct her in the steps, while on the other hand he was struggling to not melt into a puddle at her feet. The joy radiating from her was overwhelming, her laughter and smile brighter than any star in the heavens. It warmed his heart that she found such delight in a simple dance with him yet broke his heart wondering how long she had been alone and desiring friendship. 

Soon enough she managed the easy steps and the two fell into a natural rhythm, their bodies seemingly knowing what to do without conscious thought. 

"I ken what ye are." He whispered suddenly as he stared into the cosmos of her eyes. 

During his regular studies, he had a tutor who used Greek mythology and readings in his class. He had only been paying minimal attention, for his mind was lost to numbers and logs for his uncle's wine business, when the tutor began to share a story of beautiful young women, minor goddesses of nature, who were usually tied to a specific location or deity. At this, Jamie found his attention riveted on his tutor. Then when the young man began asking specific questions of the mythical beings, more and more pieces began to fall into place in his mind. He spent the rest of the day claiming sick to his uncle and pacing the floor of his bedroom, wrestling with the new information. By the end of the day, he was weary but had come to the conclusion nothing had actually changed. He had always known she was something more, something ethereal. This only confirmed it. 

"What am I?" She asked, meeting his gaze unashamed. But behind it all, he could see the tendril of fear lying there, waiting to curl around her like a snake and squeeze the life from her. 

His feet planted to the ground, halting their dancing. Carefully, he raised a hand to caress her cheek, instinctively knowing it would comfort her as he answered. "A nymph."

A shudder overtook her, her hands shifting to grasp the front of his shirt as if to steady herself, before she seemed to gain control over herself again. Never removing her eyes from him, she leaned her cheek further into his palm. "Does that frighten you?"

"No…." He continued to hold her gaze, meeting those eyes that threatened to overtake him. "But I dinna ken yer name. Ye promised….before I left. Ye said ye would tell me when I returned to ye." 

The smile that grew on her face caused any and all artistic masterpieces to pale in comparison to her exquisite beauty. "Ianassa. My name is Ianassa."

He repeated it, the name dancing on his tongue like the finest of whiskeys, a sharp burn to gain his attention then warming him all throughout his body. 

In the next moment, he was uncertain who moved first or if they both felt the undeniable bond between them. For within the next heartbeat, their arms were wrapped around the other in an embrace while their lips came together with the gentleness of a feather and the fury of a thunderstorm. 

As his lips caressed hers, what memory he carried of any prior kisses burned away to ash. None could compare to the feel of her lips against his, of her mouth opening to his own and tongues stroking and dancing, of the wholeness having her in his arms, how it seared into the very marrow of his bones, how it felt perfect. The kiss was more than just a pressing of lips. No, it seemed that with the joining of their mouths, it opened his soul to her, for her to slide in and wrap around his heart like a creeping vine. For them to stake a claim on one another that none could ever deny. 

And as the kiss progressed, it turned from innocent to something distinctly hungry. 

He could not recall moving or guiding his feet along. All he could focus on was her. All his senses were attuned to were the breathy sounds she released into his mouth, of her hands clutching him like she needed him closer, of how thin her dress was and how it still felt like an impenetrable barrier. She had finally overwhelmed him, and he only craved more.  

Next thing he knew, he hovered over her as she laid on the blanket facing him. Her hands were tangled in his hair, refusing to let him distance himself further. One of his legs was nestled between her own. Yet it was those mesmerizing blue orbs that stole the breath from his lungs. Those eyes that drew him in effortlessly. They were the darkest shade of blue possible with the pupil blown wide. A flush hinted on her pale cheeks and her lips were plump and glistening. 

"I choose you, James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser." She spoke in a reverent hush, the words floating in the air to wrap around him like a warm blanket. "What is your wish?"

This time it was his turn to shudder at her words. For he knew what she was offering and the power she was giving him. But as he gazed down at her, there was no fear in her eyes, no restraint. All he could see was affection and trust directed at him…and he realized that was his undoing. More than her beauty or kindness. She looked at him as someone worthy of her.

"I want ye." He confessed as he left a trail of kisses along her alluring jawline. "I always have…and not for this night but ev'ry night. Always."

"Then I am yours."

With that burning whisper, any composure Jamie still possessed shattered into oblivion. 

His lips attacked hers in a frenzy, equally met with her own ardent passion. Their clothing was haphazardly ripped off or just pushed to the side as the need for contact possessed them. When they joined, a hiss of pure pleasure ripped from his throat even as molten heat swept through his body like a firestorm. Their union was quick and messy, both on the edge of ecstasy before they even realized it. But Jamie could swear he saw the stars and galaxies in her eyes, could feel the connection to the very land as they both jumped the cliff simultaneously. It was only the chanting of his name in his ear and her nails like little claws in his back that kept him tethered to her and their world. 

Blissfully spent yet more alive than he ever felt before, he rolled onto his back, eyes closed as his lungs fought to regain air. 

"Ah Dhia. Is it always like that?" 

At her chuckle, he realized he had accidently spoken his thoughts aloud. What potential embarrassment was dashed away when she rolled to her side, placing her arm on his chest as she gazed down at him. 

"I hope so."

"Aye, me too."

She brushed a wild curl away from his face before leaning forward and kissing him again. It felt sated and gentle, just an unhurried, soft pressing of mouths. A feeling he wanted to sink into and wallow in. 

He was unsure how long they lazily kissed and caressed for before she slowly pulled away. On instinct, he chased her mouth, not quite ready to lose that blissful connection. 

She giggled, pressing a single finger to his needy lips.  "Do you trust me?"

"Aye." He answered immediately, without a second thought. 

Her answering smile could outshine the sun. It dazzled him enough that he did not notice until she had stood up fully. Moving carefully, she walked the few steps to the edge of the water. With eyes locked on him, she pushed on the neckline of her dress, shimmying the white fabric off her shoulders to catch on her breasts. He stared transfixed as little by little her body was revealed, like a present slowly being unwrapped or a wedding veil reverently lifted to display the bride. This moment felt holy. Even nature itself hushed at the display of perfection. When they had coupled, Jamie had barely paid attention to her body - a clear oversight on his part. There had been an unnatural drive to connect with her, to bind, to become complete inside of her lithe body. He had caught glimpses of her creamy thighs and hips as he pushed her dress up before plunging into her wet heat. But this…

For when her dress lay at her ankles, soaking in the water, Jamie damn near swallowed his tongue. 

She had always had a glow about her, something that proved her otherness, but now, she appeared radiant, outshining even the moon above them. 

"Come." She said, holding her hand out to him. 

Once again unable to refuse, nor did he truly want to, he rose, undoing his belt and allowing his tartan to pool at his feet. He yanked his shirt over his head, dropping it at his feet. 

For a second, he wondered if he should feel some sort of shame, standing before her naked as the day he was born. Yet there was none. For there she stood in her natural splendor, without shame or attempts to cover her own nakedness. Thinking about what they had been doing only minutes ago ceased any embarrassing thoughts. If anything, he found himself yearning to touch her more. 

Silently, he stepped closer, taking her outstretched hand. With fingers intertwined, he followed her deeper into the water like she was his own North Star. With eyes locked on him, she walked backwards further into the water, further into her domain. 

Finally, she stopped as the water hit his knees. With a playful tug, she guided him to sit down. Curious and unashamedly aroused, he followed her guidance to sit on the ground. The water reached his ribs, almost tickling him as it swirled around him. Without preamble, she crawled onto his lap to straddle him. His hands clasped onto her hips, a groan almost escaping him at the sensation of her body above him and her soft skin against his.

Carding a hand through his hair, she whispered, "close your eyes, young one."

He narrowed his eyes momentarily at her before following her command, all the while grumbling under his breath about how he was 'no a wee bairn'. 

She giggled, placing a fleeting, torturous peck on his lips. "Open."

He opened his eyes, uncertain but trusting. What he saw made his jaw drop and eyes widened. The sight that greeted him was almost as astounding as her beauty. The water swirled and glowed even more, even the trees and bushes were a lit with a cool warmth that made them shine. The very air seemed to twinkle under the star-studded sky. The small, secluded loch he was used to appeared transformed. Somehow still the same yet more. It felt like magic danced in the air and what veil covered the place had been lifted. 

"What–" 

"Tis my home. Or as I see it."

He blinked owlishly, head whipping around to try and take it all in before returning to the true beauty of the loch. 

"Thank ya, Ianassa. Truly."

"No, thank you Jamie. For everything." 

This time he initiated the kiss. The slow press of his lips against hers. Tracing her lips with his tongue. Enticing her mouth and tongue to dance with his. In that moment, he drank from her mouth, he worshiped her like the goddess she was. Pouring out all his affection and adoration upon her like a poor devotee, hoping to earn the attention of his goddess. His hands trailed over her body, caressing, touching, coaxing, and he knew it would never be enough. He would never have enough of her. 

His tongue traced her collarbone, a liquid fire pouring into his veins at the sigh it elicited from her. 

"Do you trust me?" She whispered into his ear, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth. 

"Aye." He answered amongst a choked sound, hands squeezing her hips. Uncertain if it was in a warning or permission to continue. 

"Give into the water, allow it to consume you."

Before he could ask of her strange words, she guided him into herself, sheathing him fully in a fluid motion. A ragged groan fell from his mouth at the sensation. How could it feel even more exquisite, more perfect than before. Her lips landed on his, nipping and sucking, almost moving in tandem with her rocking hips. Amongst that, she leaned into him, guiding him backwards, the water rising higher and higher around him. Without fear, he leaned back, fully submitting himself to her. With her lips still attached to his, the water finally covered them. Instead of panic filling him, all he could feel was pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. 

And he wholeheartedly gave in. He did not fight it as the water filled his lungs and his body sank beneath the water. For her hands were upon him the whole time, lips and body never stopping their ministrations. Driving him deeper into the water that seemed endless and deeper into her, into a bliss that threatened to rip him apart. 

And within the blink of an eye, he suddenly understood what it meant to be consumed. 

*****

The next morning Jenny and Ian came down to the loch looking for Jamie. 

The family had found it odd he was not down from his room for breakfast. Then when Jenny was sent to check on Jamie and make sure he was not sick in bed, she discovered the bed empty and blankets unrumpled. Clearly no one had slept in that bed. Ian arrived to help Jamie out in the fields with Brian as agreed upon prior. Instead Ian headed towards the loch with Jenny offering to help look for her 'flea-brained' brother. Everyone knew how often Jamie spent time there. 

But instead of finding Jamie asleep like they expected, they discovered what looked like a picnic laid out on the shore. A spare blanket spread out with an empty bottle of whiskey and crumbs. Beside that, they found his clothing and boots in a haphazard pile. The most perplexing find was a white dress, caught on some rocks in the water's edge. 

Nowhere was there a sign of him nor the owner of the strange dress. 

Nor would they ever be found again. 

As the years passed and stories were told from one generation to the next, a new one arose. How sometimes the sound of laughter could be heard from the loch if you listened hard enough. The angelic sound of a woman and the deeper voice of a man. And it was said that if you were truly lucky, if you crept close to the loch on the night of a full moon, you might even catch a glimpse of a couple standing in the shallows of the loch dancing under the moonlight, the woman with hair dark as the night above and the man with hair like fire. 

But one part of the story never wavered as the years passed. How those that inhabited Lallybroch always claimed to have a protector that lived in the small loch nearby. 

"No, it's my turn."

Sigurd tossed a throw pillow at Hvitserk. "Why the hell is it your turn?"

"We've only had sex twice this week. I should get at least once more with her!"

"That's more than me!" Sigurd argued from his spot on the couch.

"That's because you went to some kind of fucking band camp, fuckwad." Ivar stated, glaring at his brother.

"IT'S NOT A BAND CAMP, ASSHAT!"

"What else is it when you and those dipshits pretend to be in a boy band?"

"Ivar, I swear to fucking–"

"Enough, both of you." Ubbe interrupted in a monotone voice, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hvitserk, you spent the night with her last night. You have to wait your turn."

Hvitserk slumped back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a pout. "Fine….but y/n has to make it up to me later." He sent a cheeky wink your way.

You flushed because you knew exactly what he was referring to….and it sent a throb of need to your core.

"Well, whose turn is it then?" Sigurd said, drawing your focus back to the conversation.

Ubbe stated. "Technically it's my night with her–"

"I've been gone all week! You guys were able to take my time!" Sigurd further argued.

You met Ubbe's gaze from across the living room. You could almost feel his confliction, especially when his gaze turned heated as his blue eyes took in the way you were leaning against the doorframe. The two of you had made special plans for tonight….something neither of you wanted to miss out on.

As a new round of arguing began, you stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and knowing what had been planned for tonight had left you hot and bothered all day. So if someone did not hurry up and see to your needs, you were about to take care of yourself….and lock the door so they could not watch.

Finally, you pushed off the wall, unwilling to wait anymore. Four sets of eyes locked on you as you moved. "I'm going to lay down. Whoever wins better bring some lotion cause I deserve a massage first after all of this."

Without a backward glance, you headed down the hallway to your bedroom and unceremoniously flopped onto your bed like a walrus. With a sigh, you closed your eyes and allowed the comfort of your bed to soak into you.

Back out in the living room, the arguments continued on for some time until Ubbe put everything on hold to go ask you a question. He peeked into your room and with a fond smile, closed the door behind him.

"What'd she say?" Hvitserk asked.

That fond smile never left Ubbe's face as he replied. "She's asleep. Gods, she looks adorable when sleeping."

"Yeah, she does." Sigurd nodded. "So what now?"

"We wake her up." Ivar said with a shrug like it was the obvious explanation.

"No." Ubbe shot his youngest brother a look. "She's had a long week. We'll let her sleep. Fuck. I guess it's cold showers for us."

"Fuck! I'll head out. Take a long shower at home thinking about her." Sigurd shoved off the couch, heading to the front door. "Night!"

"I claim shower first." Ivar said, heading towards the bathroom.

Hvitserk groaned, "you don't even live here."

"So the fuck what?"

Ubbe looked over at Hvitserk, who just shook his head in that resigned expression they all wore when it came to dealing with the youngest Lothbrok.

"I'll clean up the kitchen then head to bed." Ubbe said.

"Alright. Night, Ubbe." Hvitserk rolled off the couch dramatically and started towards his room.

"Night, Hvits."

Ubbe cleaned up the kitchen, tidying it up and wondered for the thousandth time how his beloved brothers managed to make the place more messy than a pig's sty. Thankfully you were also as clean as him and had no issues tidying up after the others. Once he was satisfied, he headed down the hallway. But instead of heading to his own bedroom, he opened the door to your room and silently slipped in, closing it before anyone else could be the wiser.

He had no qualms about lying to his brothers for this. He was not about to miss out on the special plans the two of you had made. Not this time.

It was a Fraser family secret, passed from one generation to the next. Most took it as another folklore story, but some claimed they had firsthand experience. That there truly was something living in the small loch behind Lallybroch. A spirit of the waters. A lady of the loch. 

A few Frasers claimed to have heard her angelic singing as they approached the loch, but it would abruptly stop just before they came within sight. Even fewer claimed to have caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman with long, dark hair and skin as pale as moonlight. 

Amongst the myths of this magical maiden, there was one of a Fraser women who had approached the loch, crying and begging for help from its mysterious inhabitant, in dire need of wisdom in helping her sister who had married a terrible man. The story went that somehow she was guided to a particular plant, hidden away amongst the rocks, that was known to quickly kill. The Fraser woman claimed the lady of the loch had provided the means to save her sister. Another myth claimed a man was sick and nearing death's door but after a bath in the loch, he miraculously recovered. Yet throughout all the stories, there was one underlying theme. The mysterious inhabitant seemed to look out for the Frasers who resided in Lallybroch. 

Jamie was eight years old when his father first told him about the family secret. Naturally, the next day he told his best friend, Ian, and the two young boys decided to take their own chances on seeing the mysterious maiden of the waters. It came to naught as they spent hours by the water's edge, occasionally throwing rocks into the water in hopes it would disturb her and force her to rise. 

For the next few years, the two would occasionally try their luck at seeing the loch's inhabitant but it was never to be. Not even her supposed angelic singing graced their ears. 

Soon enough, Ian gave up on the idea, saying it was just an 'auld folktale to amuse bairns'. His attention quickly shifted to a different dark-haired Fraser beauty. Thankfully, Jamie did not recognize the shift in attention of his best friend until years later, otherwise he would have been forced to punch his friend for the sake of his sister's honor. Even though she was more than capable of throwing said punch herself, if provoked. 

As the years passed, Jamie found himself still drawn to the small loch behind Lallybroch. More and more often, he would wander there alone to swim in its waters or climb around on the rocks and trees. Sometimes he would speak aloud- sharing about his day or what he had learned from his tutors or any recent scuffles he had with his older brother or sister. He knew there was no one else around and if anyone caught him they could call him mad…but somehow he just knew there was someone there listening. Even if they never replied. 

He was unsure exactly when everything changed. 

Before he knew it, he could feel eyes watching him. Sometimes when he shared a particularly funny story, he thought he could hear laughter like the soft tinkling of bells. More than once, he caught sight of the water stirring when there was nothing to move it. 

The first time he heard her singing, he was thirteen, almost a man. He walked the familiar path to the small loch, alone and angry. The argument he had just walked away from with his father replayed over and over in his mind, causing him to almost miss the beguiling voice on the faint breeze. His heart hammered within his chest at the purely angelic voice, even if he did not understand the language spoken. His feet were frozen on the hard ground, for fear of taking another step closer would disturb her and halt the melody of the heavens that currently graced this small part of Earth. Was it minutes or hours he stood there, entranced? He cared not. What did time mean when he had the honor of listening to her, for it sounded like all the good things in life he loved, all wrapped up and coated in sunshine. 

Finally…he attempted to creep forward, but as he passed some invisible threshold, the singing abruptly ceased and a smooth splash in the water proved the serenade was over. Even as guilt and regret swept over him, he continued towards the rippling water and took a seat on what he had named 'his' rock, for it was large and half situated in the water and half out. 

Once there, he spoke aloud, apologizing for disturbing her singing and attempting to describe how beautiful it was, even if he kept stumbling over his words and more than likely sounding half-crazed. When he finally gave up and hung his head, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment, he was certain he heard her soft laughter nearby. 

Nothing was able to remove the smile from his face the rest of the day. 

*****

Over the next couple of years, he frequently heard her singing. He knew it was foolish, but he liked to pretend she was waiting for him or greeting his arrival. Yet whenever he crossed that unknown threshold, it would abruptly end. Many times he would sit, close his eyes and listen. For her voice soothed him, like a cooling balm to his heart and mind, silencing any doubts or anger and filling him with peace and joy. 

He never told a soul about hearing her. Every time he thought about it, the words would latch onto his tongue, refusing to pass his lips and spoil the air. So he kept the secret to himself, locked away. When his family or Ian teased him about the amount of time he spent at the small loch, he would brush it off or make excuses. It became his place of solace, away from the demands of the farm and his family. Plus with each passing year, he became more aware that he was not there alone. 

***** 

It was not until after his sixteenth birthday, he finally saw her for the first time. 

His father had begun training Jamie with a wooden sword years ago, but now he had grown tall enough and strong enough to attempt a real sword. One day mid-summer, Jamie snuck away from his chores, carrying his father's sword with him to practice by the loch. Working on his footing and stances, he murmured the steps to himself, focusing solely on his body, the sword and his invisible opponent. 

Suddenly, that feeling of being watched hit him. 

Spinning on his heel, he swung the sword in a clumsy arc, turning to face the small loch. Only for his eyes to practically bug out of his head as they met the most mesmerizing, startling set of eyes gazing softly back at him. The colors swirled in her orbs, various shades of blue with hints of green. The rest of her was just as striking and stunning. Hair as black as the deepest depths of night flowed down her body to her hips. Skin as pale and soft as moonlight graced her form, without blemish or mark. An white dress covered her slender body, but damp as it was, it both teased and hid the beauty of her form with its near-sheerness. Pink lips turned upward into a smile that made Jamie's knees weaken and almost stumble by the utter radiance in the simple action. Youth and beauty were her adornments yet within those mesmerizing eyes, was an agelessness that added a new level of wonder about her. 

Without words he knew who sat at the water's edge watching him. Even beyond the feeling of etherealness surrounding her like warm sunlight, she was, without question, the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes upon. 

"Hello, Jamie."

His heart stumbled, skipping several important beats, and his lungs froze, unable to accept air, due to the shock of hearing the glory that was her melodious voice in saying his name!

It was not until her blinding smile dimmed to a look of concern that he realized he had stopped breathing, his chest refusing to inflate. Immediately, he sucked in a ragged gasp and doubled over, forcing necessary air into his lungs and willing his heart to function properly instead of trying to kill him in self-sabotage. 

Once he finally gained marginal control over his traitorous body and gave into the inevitability of the embarrassing moment, he finally looked back up at the woman nearby. 

A lively smile brightened her countenance once again. She reclined in the shallows of the water, most of her weight resting on one hip, with her legs gracefully bent beside her. Her hands were placed demurely in her lap while her long hair teased around her form, dancing in the water's lazy motion. Those hypnotic eyes twinkled merrily as they scanned over him, setting his body alight, before settling on his forgotten sword. 

Either in his shock of her sudden appearance or the embarrassing coughing fit following, he must have dropped his father's sword onto the grassy ground. 

"Ah shite, dinna tell my Da."

Her answering laughter threatened to make his chest seize once again in awe while a very distinctly male part of him was certainly taking notice of the almost naked woman before him, her thin, white dress only doing so much to conceal her tempting body. 

Picking the sword back up, he wiped what little grime it had accrued on his tartan. His gaze drifted back to the woman, wondering what to do next. 

"Pray tell, did you maim that terrible fowl you bespoke of days ago?"

It took another embarrassingly long moment for his mind to rise above the allure of her voice, a sound he easily wanted to drown in for eternity, and to actually hear her question. Once her question sunk in, he broke out laughing. 

"Ach no, the wee terror still lives. My Ma forbade me to kill it."

Why she remembered that particular story he would never know. Although, it was terribly amusing now. He had gone out to gather the eggs for his Ma, when one of the hens decided to seek revenge for all the years of stealing her hard labor. With a flurry of wings, it attacked him, biting and clawing. He threatened to rip its feet off, once he restrained the bird. The next day he had come to the loch and amidst his ramblings, he shared that story. 

Feeling emboldened by her tinkling laughter, he slid the sword back into its sheath, then carefully leaned it against a nearby tree. Moving slowly, overly aware of the proximity between them, he walked over to 'his' rock and settled down like any normal visit. 

Except this time, he had an visible audience to his stories and ramblings….an divinely, enchanting maiden. 

*****

After that day, every time he returned to the loch, she would appear. Weeks went by. Then months. And as time passed, so did the distance between them. 

At a year, they would sit nearly side by side on 'their' rock. He spoke mostly, sharing stories and tidbits for her amusement, for she enjoyed his tales, no matter how mundane they felt to him. 

One time he finally worked up the courage to ask why she refused to reveal herself to others. 

A forlorn sigh escaped her, a dainty hand swirling the water to create ripples. "Tis safer. I have been alone for…." Her sweet voice trailed off, ages of pain echoed in her words. With a brief shake of her head, she tilted her face to look up at him with eyes that had seen far too much. "Tis better for all."

"And me?"

"You are different, young one."

He internally preened under her words, further confirming how special it was that she chose to reveal herself to him…and more than once! Over the past year, he even more frequently visited the loch to see her. The most time they had been separated was six days and by that last day, it felt like there was an itch under his skin he could not escape, drawing him back to the magical loch and back to her. 

Then her title for him finally sunk in. 

"Young–young one?!" He sputtered. "Ah, haud yer wheesht! Ye ken I am a man grown!" 

Her laughter flowed over and around him, like a summer breeze. An answering smile grew on his face, for how could he not mirror her joy when it was so potent? 

"Weel, ye can'no be much older than me." 

Her laughter dried up, a wanness replaced what sunshine they had been basking in. Before she turned to look over the loch, an agelessness had emerged in her bright eyes that was haunting. "I have borne witness to the rise and fall of empires and gods alike. Yet I endure, for I am tied to this place. Tis my home and under my protection." 

Silently, he reached across the gap that always lay between them, a no-man's land of sorts, to gently take her hand in his. A warm tingle shot up his arm at the connection, causing his heart to trip. She inhaled sharply and looked down at their hands. Yet after a moment's hesitation, her fingers intertwined with his, a reassured smile on her face. 

They sat that way, quietly talking, until darkness began to creep in. Jamie loathed to leave her side, for this was the first time they had touched and with her small, soft hand in his own calloused one, it felt right. Even if he had no idea what that meant. 

*****

It was two months later, his world turned upside down once again. 

Stalking down the path and through the trees surrounding, his feet pounded on the ground with each step. Coming to 'their' rock, he practically collapsed onto it, furiously wiping away the tears leaking down his cheeks. 

"Jamie? What torments you so?"

He looked up, seeing her through watery eyes, standing knee deep in the loch and watching him with a slightly furrowed brow and concern in her eyes. "I– I dinna want– they are–" A fresh sob caught in his throat and he closed his eyes even as tears flowed unhindered, his hand covering his mouth to try and repress the sound of his despair. 

Within moments, her lithe body dropped onto the rock next to him and her arms wrapped around him in a soothing embrace. Unashamed, for it felt like his heart was fracturing within his chest, he laid his head on her shoulder and clung to her as he quietly cried. It was only in the comfort of her embrace and with her hand stroking his hair, that he felt safe enough to speak. He brokenly explained how his family was sending him away to stay with his uncles for a time in Castle Leoch. 

"I dinna want tae go." He murmured after his tears dried and he explained the predicament. 

"Why?"

"This is my home, ye ken? I dinna wish tae leave it. Or my family, or Ian. And….I dinna wish tae leave ye. Ye will be alone again." 

She pressed their foreheads together and if possible, Jamie thought he may have swooned a little. He could taste her breath on his lips, feel the warmth of her body sinking under his skin and infusing into his blood, heating him from the inside out. Her hand still lazily stroked his hair and he now understood why dogs and cats enjoyed it so much. 

"You are my greatest friend, James Fraser, and I shall miss you. But you will go." She gently commanded. "There is much to learn and see in this world. I will await here for your return in which you shall share stories of your adventures and your travels. Agreed?"

Still choked up, he barely managed to mutter out, "agreed". 

They sat that way for some time, sharing the air between them, breathing in the scent of the other and their presence as if to memorize. Jamie knew he must leave soon, to return back to Lallybroch and his duties there. Plus, the longer he sat so close to her, touching and being touched by her, a rather large problem was filling up the front of his trousers. 

With an uncomfortable cough, he drew back and shifted, leaving their shoulders and thighs touching in an innocent yet enticing way. A heat radiated from his cheeks that he hoped she would not take notice of. He rubbed the nape of his neck, looking out over the small loch with its barrier of trees and shrubs surrounding it like a natural form of protection for the magical place. 

"Ye ken, ye ne'er told me yer name." He said quietly, a realization that had been nagging him for some time now. Over the last year they had spent together, she never shared her name, nor had he asked. 

"Hmmm….names have power."

"D'ye no trust me?"

Her eyes flashed over to him, a tightness around her pink lips. "I do."

"But ye willna tell me it?"

"When you return, I shall."

Before he could pester her more, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek, lingering far longer than expected for a chaste kiss. A thrill shot down his spine with the force of a bullet, leaving him flushed and his mind spinning. 

"Farewell, Jamie. May the wind and the waves watch over you and darkness never have a foothold." She whispered and then rose, gracefully walking out into the water. 

Jamie watched her, the skin touched by her lips warm and tingling, and his body seemingly tied to the ground. He knew what was to come, for he had witnessed it many times before but it still always managed to shock him. For in the blink of an eye, she disappeared, one moment there and the next gone, as if a spirit of the water returning to its home. 

With a resigned sigh, he got up, in need of returning home. But as he gazed out over the loch once more, he knew somehow she was watching. 

"I'll return soon. I promise ye." 

Only a silent, soft breeze answered his spoken promise. 

The great hall fell into silence. Only one or two dared to interrupt. Everyone stared in rapt attention at their lord, curious as to what he would do next. Even the stones and fire quieted down, refusing to disturb the silence.

The Dane warlord inspected the traitor as if determining his worth and if the secrets he harbored were worth their usefulness or better tossed into the sea. A tension clouded the air with the continued silence. For everyone knew, if deemed unworthy, these would be the final, sweet breathes the traitor enjoyed. So they waited in anticipation to see their lord's verdict. To see if more blood would spill in the king's hall at his command today.

After the tension-saturated moment, his somber and calculating demeanor shifted. Sigtryggr teasingly held up an animal skull over the traitor's face, smirking as his men laughed and cheered. He placed the skull in the traitor's hand before wiping his hands on the turd's jerkin. An unspoken threat hidden in the simple action- once your worth is gone, you are dead, and your blood will not be on my hands.

Without hesitation, Sigtryggr jumped up on top of the nearby table, laden with food and spoils of their victory. "We leave for Wintanceaster….today."

With hands fisted, he cheered. Riling his warriors for the upcoming fight. Reviving the bloodlust in them once more. And those warriors mirrored his enthusiasm, some pounding on the tables with their fists, celebrating the chance to earn more glory and riches or Valhalla.

Looking around the hall of the once king of Wealas, he rose to his full height. 'Warrior' screamed from every fluid movement, the stance of his posture, the way his eyes tracked those around. Here, standing on the table like a king above his subjects, was a man those surrounding him willingly followed. Who fought for them just as much as they fought for him. He was a man, a warlord, worthy of their loyalty.

Surveying his warriors, a smile tugged at his lips. When his gaze landed on you at a table further away, his eyes immediately brightened and his smile slanted into something more genuine.

In return, you flashed him a small, fond smile. You loved his genuine smile, how his whole countenance radiated warmth, and how anyone close by became magnetized and reciprocated his infectious joy. Unfortunately, that sweet smile was something that had become far more rare since he chose to venture forth from under his father' mantle to make a name for himself.

But your smile did not reach your eyes, even as you wished to share his excitement. For it was hindered by the shiver of apprehension that shot through you as fast and deadly as an arrow.

As the warriors celebrated the win against the men of Wealas and the future, easy fight against the great kingdom of Wessex….you slipped away.

A weariness clung to you like a heavy cloak which you were unable to shed. Months of battles and fights had weakened your stamina. This past fight against the men of Wealas had drained the last of your reserves. You never spoke of it, not wanting to be deemed weak, but you had taken a particularly nasty fall two weeks ago during a battle in Irland. Your body had still not fully recovered from it. Occasionally, shorts bursts of pain radiating from your left hip that left you gritting your teeth until the discomfort subsided.

You walked past those in the throes of revelry or beginning to pack for the abrupt departure. You shook your head as you passed some of the younger men in the midst of a drinking game. Others you shared a smile or a brief word.

You ducked into one of the few hallways leading off the main hall, hoping few noticed your absence.

"Where are you headed?"

The sudden question caused you to glance back over your shoulder, realizing you had been followed. Instead of being frustrated, you smiled at the behemoth of a man whose long strides allowed him to easily catch up to you. The two of you fell into step together. The sounds of your footfalls on the stone floor and his massive axe thumping against his hip made you momentarily forget your prior worries.

"To find some peace and quiet until it is time to leave. I had planned to sleep away the rest of the day but that clearly will not be happening."

His deep grumble echoed in the hallway you found yourselves in. "Aye, I was hoping for a good hump."

You openly laughed. "Go on, you still have time for that!"

He shot you a cheeky wink before peeling off at the next corridor and, most likely, heading in the direction of the stables.

You just shook your head as you kept walking along the stone steps. Ulf had only recently joined Sigtryggr's men but had proven himself loyal and a warrior worthy of the Sagas. A friendship had evolved between the two of you unexpectedly. One day he walked up to you, declaring you reminded him of his little sister back in Denmark and that he would look out for you. And so he had. Although the care had become mutual at some point. Even now you would happily claim him as a brother.

Your thoughts drifted like the waves against the shore, a new one rising up as its brethren faded away. You knew Sigtryggr had a reason for leaving Wealas in order to capture Wintanceaster. He never did anything without a secure reason. That was one of the many reasons his warriors were so loyal to him. The young warlord had proven over and over that he cared for his people and would not waste their lives needlessly nor rush into a situation without fully considering it beforehand.

So consumed in the gentle lapping of your thoughts, you did not hear the footfalls in the corridor behind you. It was not until the sudden, soft call of your name reached your ears that you were made aware you were not alone again. Anyone else you might have ignored or yelled at over your shoulder. But not this voice. Not him. It was this voice which caused your feet to falter, to cease their movement.

"I thought you would still be celebrating." You said into the open air, not removing your gaze from the stone steps laid out before you, denying yourself from turning around to see him. You knew he would eventually find you. He always did.

Each carefully measured step reverberated in the otherwise quiet corridor, drawing closer to you. At the far end, where you both had come from, faint sounds of revelry drifted in the air like leaves in the wind. Yet somehow it still felt like you two were completely all alone. As if nothing real or imaginary would dare intrude on this moment and disturb the serenity you sought for.

"Why did you leave?"

That slow, thoughtful cadence of his voice was like honey to your ears. Your eyelids fluttered closed on their own accord, your heart missing a beat. You loved listening to his voice, it was one of the things that first drew you to him. Even now, years later, his voice was a sound you would never tire of.

"I am tired." You replied easily. "I hoped to rest before we leave."

The hairs on the back of your neck rose when you felt his presence just behind you. But it was not fear that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his body called out to you, beckoning you to fall into his arms, to surrender to him. You fought it viciously, refusing to give in. Not this time.

"That is not why you left the hall though." Sigtryggr stated, not even bothering to pose it as a question. Evidence of how well he knew you.

You shrugged, lowering your gaze to the tips of your boots. Stains from mud and blood decorated them, layers of the discoloration evident creating a patchwork effect that suddenly held your attention.

Wordlessly, he pressed his chest to your back, placing his hands on your waist delicately as if too much pressure would cause you to fracture and break. His forehead lowered to rest against your temple, his hot breath fanning your cheek. Instinctually, your body relaxed into his embrace. The prior tension humming through your veins silenced under his touch, your body betraying your will.

"Kanìna, talk to me." He murmured into your ear. "What bothers you so?"

Hearing his private nickname for you, a silly grin spread over your face that you were unable to stop anymore than you could stop the sun rising and setting….even if you were upset with him.

"It's nothing." You muttered.

After a silent minute, in which you hoped he would drop the subject, two of his fingers lifted your chin and guided your face to turn and meet his gaze over your shoulder.

"Tell me." He gently commanded.

His cool, blue eyes gazed down at you, sussing out your secrets with an unnatural ease. No matter how much your inner secrets tried to live and hide within you, he was always able to shed light on them, coaxing them forth like a skittish animal. Being the recipient of his devoted attention was both thrilling and unnerving, for with a single look he seemed to just know. With those eyes that could soothe like the coolest of water on a hot day or easily set you aflame with the icy fire in them, you were at his mercy….a place where you felt both safe and at peace.

Finally, he hummed as if in confirmation. "This is about Brida."

You huffed. "I don't trust her."

The corner of his lips kicked up as he released you, backing away. "And why not?" He asked as he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for your answer.

You knew your words, your thoughts, were safe with him. Still you kept your voice low, aware that anyone could pass through the corridor. The last thing you wanted was to make an enemy of Brida. She seemed the type to permanently remove those she deemed obstacles in her way.

Your hands dropped to your hips. The tension that had abated under his touch now returned with a fury. "She's a she-wolf with the need for revenge that will drive her to her death." You fumed, gesturing back towards the main hall then slamming your hand back onto your hip. "And still she would willingly go! She isn't thinking straight!! Her selfish actions will get our people killed. And for what?! To take over some Saxon town? It doesn't seem worth it. We only just arrived here. Our warriors need rest. None of them will fight for her! We only fight for you!"

You breathed heavily through your frustration, suddenly caught in the depths of his fathomless eyes. Your ire dissipated like the morning mist, transformed back into the exhaustion that clung greedily to you. You sighed, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke next. "I will only fight for you."

A weighty silence hung between the two of you, a pressure that attempted to bow your shoulders and make you crumble. Yet you stood firm like an oak tree, resolute in your opinion. Something about Brida rubbed you the wrong way and disdain threatened to choke you with the idea of following her orders. Sigtryggr was the warlord you followed without question usually. But this time you could not restrain your tongue from sharing your opinions. You would march to Wintanceaster with him, your loyalty superseded all, but that did not mean you agreed with this order.

Several seconds passed in the tomb-like silence. His penetrating gaze never wavering from your face. Eventually, he spoke. His soothing voice was like the sail to lift you out of the stagnant waters. "I agree."

You blinked several times before responding. "You do?"

"Yes. She is dangerous. Her desperate need for vengeance clouds her judgement."

"Then why?" You pleaded. "Why are you listening to her? Why are we going to Wintanceaster? Please, just….help me understand."

His eyes softened as they met yours, a vulnerability there that you were one of the few to be allowed to see. The sight of it made your heart melt. He reached out and ran a thumb over your cheek. Without a second thought, you grasped his hand, placing his palm against your cheek, desperate for his comforting touch. In his eyes, you could see the internal struggle, the multitude of thoughts clashing and crashing like waves in a storm.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

You slowly nodded, confused by the change of topic but listening.

"I remember seeing you across my father's hall. You were laughing with some friends at a table. With the hearth separating us, the fire's colors danced on your skin making you glow. I could hardly look away from you. I was certain you were a goddess among men, sent by the trickster, Loki, to beguile me. Even when my brothers teased me, I did not listen. How could I when enraptured by the very presence of you?"

"I remember that night." You whispered back. "I caught you staring at me several times and I thought it was creepy."

He chuckled, tugging you closer, drawing you into his embrace. His arms banded around your waist. Those captivating eyes never left yours, a twinkle of mischief in them. "And when I tried to talk to you, you darted away like a frightened rabbit."

"After you began calling me 'kanìna'."

He hummed, a boyish smile turned his lips up, curbing his sharp edges. "Luckily, I know how to catch a rabbit. You learn their patterns and set your traps where they frequent. Most importantly, one must be patient."

"No wonder you spent all that time by the river fishing or at the practice yard. You always seemed to be nearby." You teased lightly, with your arms around his neck, keeping him prisoner in your embrace, just as much as you were in his.

He closed the distance between you, ghosting his lips over yours in an tantalizing kiss. "My heart chose you that first time I laid eyes on you." He whispered against your lips.

The heady confession made your mind melt and a heat simmer across your skin. When he started to draw away, you eagerly chased his lips with your own. He only allowed the simplest of kisses, a barely-there brush of lips, that left you aching for more. A needy whine left your throat in response. You could feel the smug smirk on his mouth as he dipped his head to the side, his teeth scraping against your pulse point. Your hands tangled in his hair at the sensation. Eyes drifted closed on their own accord as you tipped your head to the side to provide better access for him. Shifting the two of you, he turned just enough so you were caged between the hard, stone wall and his lithe, unforgiving frame.

"And that first night we made love under the stars."

"I had never been so happy." Your voice came out somewhere between a whimper and an admission.

His mouth never left the column of your throat, alternating between planting kisses and drawing patterns with his tongue, even as he spoke, as if trying to brand the words to your skin. "I asked you to be my woman as Máni drove the moon across the night sky that night. Do you remember what you said?"

"You had to make me a promise."

"And I did." He hummed, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. "I promised that we would find good land, we would find peace, and once I completed that…."

"I would be your wife." You finished his sentence, the ending of the promise made between the two of you under the star-studded sky two years ago.

"And bear my children."

You laughed quietly. "And bear your children."

Pulling back, he gripped your chin, forcing your head up to meet his eyes. That lazy, predatory gaze had turned heated due to the desire raging in them and the promise he carried on his heart like a banner for you. "I will take Wintanceaster for you." He declared ardently. "To fulfill my promise."

You blinked owlishly. Your mind muddled and hazy from his pleasurable torment on your skin. "I don't….I don't understand." Your brows furrowed as you tried to piece everything together. "We have Wealas. You set out from your father's land to make a name for yourself. You have done that! Your name will live on in the Sagas. Why do we need Wintanceaster?"

"If we remain here in Wealas, we will always be fighting to protect our borders from Mercia and Wessex. They will not trust us to be satisfied. Our forebears saw to that reputation. Wintanceaster is the crown of Wessex. If we take that, we have all of Wessex at our mercy."

"So we leave a whole land to take a single city?"

"Yes, we do." He replied, his nose bumping into yours playfully. "Because then, my beautiful kanìna, we have the leverage we need."

"For what?"

"To make peace."

Before you could question him, his mouth descended on yours, kissing you with a savage ferocity that you met with equal passion. Your hands fisted in his hair, drawing a groan from him. His strong body further pressed into you, as if seeking to fuse your bodies into one. The air around you was charged, kindling just waiting to burst into flames that would leave you both burning with an endless fire of need only you could soothe with the joining of your bodies. Suddenly, he ripped his mouth away from yours.

"Sigtryggr…." You whimper, uncaring of how his name dripped with such blatant want.

His forehead landed on yours. His voice had turned husky and dangerous as he spoke with a passionate candor, shooting delicious chills down your spine. "I have no intentions of conquering Wessex and eradicating the Saxons like our forefathers tried to do. Like Brida wants to do. We would never find peace in Wessex. We would constantly be at war to maintain our land. But if we can come to an agreement with the young King of Wessex….then I can fulfill my promise to you."

A few of the pieces fell into place in your mind as he allowed a look into his plans. "And Brida? She will not agree to this."

"She has her uses still. She can help us take Wintanceaster." He softly admitted. "But I will not lead my warriors to Wessex only for her revenge. No, we go to broker land and peace. Something she does not understand."

"But why must we leave today? I wanted to sleep in a bed tonight." You whined with a faux pout.

"Alone?"

"I was hoping not," you sighed dramatically, "but now it seems that someone is more inclined to travel than keep me warm in a nice, soft bed."

"I would do far more than just keep you warm." He purred out in a voice soaked through with wicked intentions.

Your whole body tingled in anticipation. You pulled back just enough to see into his eyes, how they had further darkened with desire as they met yours. Your womb clenched and pulsated within you, silently begging to allow him to fulfill his word.

You uncoiled a hand from his hair to trace a finger over the scar across his eye. A scar he had received while saving your life from a man prepared to bludgeon you to death. Your finger trailed down the scar, along his cheekbone and to his lips, tracing their shape as your lips quirked up in a teasing smirk.

"How can I be certain you are a man of your word?"

"Because I can tell you burn for me already. Your body aches for me, cries out for me to fill you and make you scream my name." He nipped at your bottom lip then soothed it with his tongue. "And I would never allow my woman to be unsatisfied."

"Promises, promises, my lord."

His lips crashed against yours like furious waves against the rocks. What self-control he prided himself in having, snapped at hearing you call him 'my lord' in that sultry tone. It was a weakness of his. One you had only recently learned about. And for how often he could drive you wild with a single look or a lingering touch, it was nice to have ammunition to use against him.

In a blink, his strong hands had grasped your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. The uneven rock wall dug deeper into your back but you paid no mind. Too caught up in the glory of his mouth and the decadent taste of worship in it. Let there be bruises. You would wear them proudly. His kiss turned soul-searing that sent you to the brink of ecstasy. Your tongues clashed, fought and danced. A single roll of your hips against him drew out such an animalistic growl from him, all you could do was whimper helplessly at the fire flooding your veins.

A loud clatter at the end of the corridor momentarily stilled the intoxicating haze bathing the two of you. Waiting a moment, you tried to chase his mouth, wanting to sink back into its depths and have his taste soak you from the inside out. Then an obnoxiously loud shout of his name echoed down the corridor.

A whiny sigh escaped your throat, your head falling back to knock against the stone wall. Whatever blissful moment was now shattered. Sigtryggr was needed by his warriors.

His answering, annoyed groan made you feel a little better, that you were not the only one disappointed by the interruption. It was also impossible to not notice his….considerable….issue pressed flush against your core.

Teasingly, you rolled your hips once more. The sound that emerged from between his teeth was a blend of a snarl and a growl, shooting a shiver down your spine, igniting your blood. His hand slapped against the stone next to you before he dropped his head to your shoulder. Both of you fought to control your breathing, to subdue your raging libidos, and piece back together your composure. However much you both hated it.

"You owe me." You muttered, resuming gently running your hands through his hair.

"I vow to make it worth the delay."

"Promises, promises."

He nipped at the junction of your neck and shoulder, making you squirm, before pulling back. "When we take Wintanceaster, I will allow you to choose our room first. Then you may have whatever soft bed is most to your liking."

Carefully he relaxed his grip on your thighs, helping to guide your feet back to the floor. Instead of stepping away, he stayed impossibly close, as if trying to draw out this private moment for a little longer.

"Our bed, huh?" You teased. "Who said I would share my bed with you?"

"You miss me when you are alone."

"What makes you think that?"

"You talk in your sleep."

Laughter rolled off your tongue at the purely smug look he wore. "And what else do I say in my sleep?"

He stared down at you with warmth in his eyes as he was clearly deliberating what to admit. After a long second, he traced the edge of your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. When he spoke, it was low and tainted with lust. "You have quite the naughty imagination."

A flush heated your cheeks while a bolt of desire shot straight to your core.

Before you could latch yourself onto him like a tick and forcibly drag him away to have those very wicked ways with him, he moved back, putting space between the two of you.

"Come, we must prepare to leave. For after we take Wintanceaster, there will be a siege. During then I will have plenty of time to make sure you are satisfied in our bed." He reached out and took your hand, laying a sweet kiss to your palm. "Now, my kanìna, we must leave to go build our future."

"Our future." Those two simple words bloomed something in you. No longer was your future like trying to look at the horizon through a heavy rainstorm. You knew what you wanted, and he stood before you with a plan, ready to fulfill his vow he made to you.

Those blue eyes gazed into your heart, into your soul, and he smiled as he threaded his fingers through yours. "I will accept no other future where you are not my wife."

"But first we take Wintanceaster."

"Yes, we take Wintanceaster. For us. For our future. Come." He stepped back, guiding you away from the wall and down the corridor, towards the sound of departure.

And you followed without question. You would always follow him. For how much he said his heart chose you….your heart had chosen him with equal ferocity.

Tag List

Ubbe squeezed his shoulder but thankfully kept any words behind his teeth. Seeing that Ivar was out of arrows, the elder brother walked down to the end of the archery range to retrieve Ivar's arrows again.

The dark-haired Ragnarsson absent-mindedly watched Ubbe pluck the arrows from the targets, pleased that his brother knew to keep the pitying looks or comments to himself. Everyone had gotten better about hiding their pity but Ivar could still see it….could feel it taint the air….and it made his blood boil. It made him want to thrust his dagger into someone's chest and rip their still-beating heart out, to paint himself in the blood of those who dare pity him, to hear their petrified screams….to remind them all that he was more than his useless legs.

That someday the whole world would know the name of Ivar the Boneless….

….and they would fear him.

But for now, he temporarily suppressed his homicidal tendencies. His mother chastised him enough when he verbalized all the ways he would love to torture Sigurd. Not that it stopped him. He just hated seeing that disappointed look on her beautiful face. Or the swat to the back of his head from Floki. That did not mean he did not have plans though….for the future.

The sounds of others in the practice yard drifted around him like a chilling breeze. His jaw tightened fractionally. The two Ragnarssons were off at the furthest corner of the archery range, no one else around them. Several of those that stood around or practiced with axes and swords called out greetings to Ubbe when the two brothers passed. But no one came to join them, to practice archery or just talk….because of Ivar.

That easy comradery, that acceptance, that respect from his fellow Vikings, was something he never experienced. They thought him worthless, useless….just a cripple.

They kept their distance. Never were they outright rude to his face, because everyone knew Ivar's temper and violent tendencies would warrant him to inflict pain on them, but they never tried to join him or whichever brother was babysitting him for the day.

So he watched and observed. Only in the dead of night when he was alone, did his imagination create fantasies of being able to join the other warriors. To be recognized and wanted. To be respected. To be liked.

For now, he would accept their fear.

A cheer rang out through the practice yard. "Hvitserk! Hvitserk!" Several voices chanted his name like they were summoning him forth.

While sitting on his stump, Ivar turned to see his flaxen-haired brother stepping into the center of the sparring area, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. His smug smile could be witnessed even from where Ivar sat, as those watching cheered him on with enthusiasm.

The youngest Ragnarsson wondered who was stupid enough to try and fight his brother. He begrudgingly admitted that all of his brothers were fierce warriors in their own right, a trait surely gifted through the blood of their father and being descendants of Odin the All-Father.

Yet neither the father that abandoned them nor the one-eyed god in Valhalla ever answered Ivar's whispered prayers and silent cries.

In the sparring area, a new cheer arose as Hvitserk's opponent stepped into the circle. Carrying a sword and shield, you rolled your shoulders, preparing for the spar. The chant of your name filled the air, like those around could not help but be in awe of you. For it was the air of confidence surrounding you that made people magnetized to you.

And Ivar was no exception.

Your name flowed from his lips in a reverent murmur as his vivid, blue eyes refused to look away. You were perfection in every way. Your movements were fluid like a dancer's and calculated like a strategist's. Every year that passed, you continuously grew in beauty, a kind that should not be known in the mortal realm. People flocked to you, both to win your affections and bask in your presence. Your skills with a blade were already legendary. Many claimed one day that you might surpass Lagertha herself with your sword skill. You were confident and strong, poised and regal. A valkyrie amongst mortals that were blessed just to be in your presence.

The sporadic times Ivar and you interacted in passing, usually around his brothers, you never ignored or awkwardly stared at him like other women. As if they were unsure what to do around him since he did not have working legs or they feared he would randomly stab them. But not you. Instead, your gorgeous eyes would meet his, a smile on your lips, as you greeted him like he was worth your time.

On occasion, you would ask him a superficial question and it was all Ivar could do to remember how to speak. Then to his further astonishment, you would actually listen and respond. The few conversations you bestowed upon him were typically short-lived, for his brothers were always around and would steal your attention away or you would have to leave to fulfill your duties.

Yet in those moments, Ivar swore his heart stopped and he could grow wings and fly.

His brothers teased him about his crush on you, how he would go starry-eyed and barely able to speak in your presence. In retaliation, he would just remind them that whenever they made advances towards you, you would quite clearly make your feelings known - usually with a dagger against their balls. Not that it stopped their flirting.

Ivar knew of a few bets going around, trying to see who would be the first brought to your bed here in Kattegat. Yet so far, no one had won.

The riotous cheering resumed in the sparring area as Hvitserk and you began circling one another. In a blink, Hvitserk advanced, swinging his sword and axe only for them to repeatedly bounce off your shield. The two of you sparred for several more minutes, taking turns in attempts to land a hit or make the other stumble. Finally both of you stepped away, chests heaving and grins on their faces. Hvitserk said something that had everyone nearby laughing as he winked at you.

Ivar's hand tightened on the bow in his lap.

You shook your head with a smirk. Then you glided forward with an effortless grace and initiated the sparring this time.

"I heard she trained under Lagertha for a few years before coming here." Ubbe stated, coming up to Ivar's side with the arrows in hand, even as he watched the fight. "That's why she's so good."

Ivar grunted. "I hope she makes Hvitty eat dirt."

"She probably will."

This time something in you had shifted. No longer were you fighting on equal terms with Hvitserk. Oh no….it became obvious you had been toying with him this whole time.

In frustrated retaliation, Hvitserk's hits began to get more wild, his blocks more sloppy. Yet you continued to dance around him, taking each hit and easily returning your own that he barely managed to escape. Once you managed to knock him onto his back, but with a quick roll, Hvitserk was up and charging at you again.

Finally, with a clearly well-practiced and almost unbelievable move, you slipped under his guard. Using his momentum against him, you feigned a spin and snuck a leg out to swipe at him, effectively tripping him. Before he could do more than raise his face from the dirt beneath him, you had one foot on his back and your sword tip at the nap of his neck.

Ivar sworn he had never seen a more beautiful and erotic sight in his entire life.

After a moment, you allowed Hvitserk up, clasping forearms after with smiles still on your faces as those around cheered or swapped coins based on their betting. Moving away, you settled back to lean against a railing, happily accepting the water from someone next to you. With your sleeve, you wiped the sweat from your brow before taking a sip. One of the shieldmaidens at your other side muttered something that made you laugh, shaking your head before you playfully shoved her.

A smile tugged on his lips in answer to your own laughter. But it died a swift death when he noticed the many other pairs of eyes watching you. Some of those looks were nothing short of hungry.

"You should say something to her."

Ivar shifted his icy glare to his elder brother. "What are you talking about?"

Ubbe shrugged. "It's obvious you like her….don't deny it. The death glares you give the others are enough to confirm it. So, you should tell her. Who knows? Maybe she feels the same."

Ivar scoffed, even as his heart pounded in his chest like a drum at the mere thought of you returning even a smidgen of his affection. "No. She's too nice to say it to my face. But she has no interest in any of you, why would she be interested in the cripple then?"

"Ivar, it's not…."

"Shut up. I'm done talking about this. Let's go find our idiot brothers. I'm tired of waiting around for them." Ivar slid down the trunk and began using his hands to crawl back towards the Great Hall. He could faintly hear Ubbe mutter something under his breath as he picked up Ivar's abandoned bow and arrows, used to have to carry things for the youngest Ragnarsson.

Before he got too far, Ivar could not help himself as he turned to look over his shoulder one last time at you. Leaning against the railing, you watched the next sparring match with a small smile on your face, looking beautiful and happy.

With that image in his mind, Ivar continued to crawl away, each drag of his lower body haunted by the eyes he knew would be following his movement like he was some rabid beast in need of being put down for the safety of all.

But the worst part was the knowledge that someone as perfect as you would never look twice at him in desire. He was a snake, meant to crawl on the ground, and you….you were a Valkyrie meant to rise above everyone and dwell with the gods.

*****

His vibrant eyes peered down over the edge of the short cliff, cloaked by the bushes he looked through. Lying here, with his belly on the ground, no one ever saw him. He knew from experience, enough times spent tracking various people to see what he could observe, or witnessing his brothers and their various paramours. He knew no one looked towards the ground for the eyes they could feel watching them. Never thinking about the danger that lurked at their feet.

This revelation was both the shadow of truth he veiled himself in and the chain that kept him prisoner.

Now though, he was thankful for a very different reason that he had honed his skills of stealthily tracking and following someone without their knowledge. Quiet and sly as a serpent in the underbrush, he carefully moved closer, crawling forward on his elbows.

It was the muffled crying from below that twisted the knife in his heart and kept him hostage on the precipice.

Amongst the raised roots of an ancient-looking tree, almost hidden by the natural alcove between the tree and the sharp slope of the short cliff, you leaned against the trunk of the tree. Your face was buried in your hands, weapons laying discarded just within reach. Your stifled cries mixed with the sound of the nearby gentle stream, creating a conflicting symphony of peace and heartbreak.

It was not pity that filled him as he gazed down at you. No, he knew pity and loathed it. He would never place such a revolting emotion onto you. What filled him instead was….sympathy. For he knew what it felt like to purposefully draw away from others, to hide oneself away from the world, and only then be able to shed the restricting mask and release the pent-up pain without fear of others' judgements.

Almost a fortnight had passed since he had begun following you, trailing behind as you left Kattegat and ventured into the surrounding forest and to your safe haven. At first, it had been curiosity that caused him to track your journey. Only to be shocked when he discovered you in the hidden dell, taking your clothes off and bathing in the shallow stream, softly singing to yourself the whole time. His mind shut down, unable to comprehend what his eyes bore witness to. You appeared as an apparition, something not meant for mortal eyes. A vision that the gods guarded jealously. The image of you was immediately seared into his brain, never to be forgotten for however long he lived. For gazing upon you, was the epitome of divine beauty, both inside and out. A goddess that was meant to be worshipped for all eternity.

After seeing you bathing for the first time, Ivar spent the rest of the day in a haze. Nothing could draw him out of his reverie. It was as if you had cursed him, only able to think about you, to remember you in all your glory.

The next time he saw you, he was sharpening an axe at the blacksmith's. You walked by, but not without greeting him first with a call of his name and a mesmerizing smile. He was lucky that you continued on your way because he barely caught himself from slicing his hand open in his gawking and encouraging his tongue back into his mouth after accidentally swallowing it. He was certain that if you had caught him spying, you would have confronted him about it. When you did not say anything, nor in the days after, all he could guess was you were unaware of his observation.

So whenever he saw you heading for the forest alone….he followed.

In his mind, he reassured himself it was for your own protection. Of course, he knew the skill you possessed to fight and defend yourself. It was a favorite pastime of his to watch you knock over-confident, cocky men flat on their asses. Especially the ones that hoped to gain certain favors from you.

Yet he noticed that when you were alone in the quiet, hidden dell, you let your guard down in more ways than one. You looked at peace with your eyes closed and face lifted towards the sun like an exotic flower. Your faithful weapons were set aside and seemingly forgotten about while you were here. It was in this place you sought solace from your companions and the tasks and responsibilities heaped upon your shoulders.

He vowed to stand guard so your face would never have to shed that look of serenity, causing you to appear ethereal.

Now though, he trailed behind you to provide comfort and companionship. Even if he was not right next to you physically. He silently hoped somehow you could feel his presence and know that you were not alone. That you did not have to grieve alone.

It had been four days since the news of your mother's tragic and unexpected death had reached Kattegat's shores. Every day you accepted the condolences with a genuine smile and continued to train and spend time with your companions like normal. It was when you ventured here, into your safe haven, that your pain finally spilled out onto the ground. Staining the earth around you with your grief and tears. Tainting the air with your heartbreak.

And Ivar kept to the shadows, watching, waiting, making sure no one disturbed you.

Today, your weeping was not all-consuming, but still enough for Ivar's hands to itch in some misguided attempt to comfort you. Once the outpouring of your grief ceased, you wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks with the sleeve of your tunic. Only the gurgling stream and the bird calls filled the air.

With a weary sigh, you stood up and stretched. Ivar could not help the way his gaze slid over your perfect body, touching as much of you with his eyes as he could. For never would you allow him to touch you with his dirty hands. You were too perfect and he was….he was beneath you in every way.

Ivar prepared to slither back and hide as you ascended up the slope of the cliff and make your way back to Kattegat. A dance the two of you had done for the fortnight now that Ivar had been watching over you. Even if you were unaware of the dance you participated in.

Just as you reached your hand out to grab your weapons, laying on a nearby stone, you froze.

Your head slowly, cautiously, hesitantly, turned to the right. Your body was still bent with your hand outstretched, as if the weapons lay forgotten in that moment. Your eyes were glued to the trees across the shallow stream. Tension sung a melody throughout your body as you carefully straightened from your crouch. The sword now gripped in your hand like a lifeline.

Fear and concern kept his fierce gaze locked on you and on the trees, wondering what you saw, desperate to know what had you so on edge.

Then Ivar saw it….

….and a shiver of terror trickled down his spine.

Moving silently and with an unnaturally, graceful prowl, the wolf stepped out from behind the trees across the small stream. Flaming red like the fires of Muspelheim colored its eyes. An inky, black coat covered its body, appearing to absorb the filtering sunlight like a black hole. Fangs emerged from its snout, as long as Ivar's dagger and twice as sharp. The wolf easily stood as tall as a horse, yet its presence conveyed more. As if it's massive body still struggled to contain all of it.

Ivar gaped. For he knew before him had to be a spawn of Fenrir, sent to Midgard for nothing less than to wallow in carnage, to drink the blood of all it devoured and to create chaos with each of its powerful footfalls.

And at the moment, it's destructive gaze was set on you.

It's lips curled back in a snarl. The growl that left it's throat could make mountains shake in terror. Nature itself silenced to give way to the creature that commanded attention and awe-inspiring horror. Then one massive paw lifted, proceeding another, bringing it a step closer in it's prowl. Those burning eyes never left you the whole time.

At its step closer, you swiftly shifted your stance, hands gripping your sword with a death-like grip. From where he hid, Ivar could see the tremors of trepidation careening through your body. Yet even in your terror, you refused to go down without a fight. Even in the face of what was certainly death itself, you stood your ground. Denying it from taking your soul easily.

In that moment, Ivar knew what he had to do. Never had he been so certain of his actions. It felt like Odin himself placed a hand on his shoulder in guidance and reassurance. Viciously, he shoved down the fear and dread clawing at his limbs. He refused to watch you fight alone. He refused to let you die. Not you, his Valkyrie, his goddess.

With a guttural warcry, he shoved himself forward. Half crawling, half falling down the cliff's slope, he finally touched the mossy ground and crawled his way over to where you stood, ready to defend yourself from the monstrous creature.

Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, wide with determination and dread, but you made no further move.

Wordlessly, he passed you, crawling until he was between you and the stream. The wolf remained on the other side of the stream, watching with a malicious glint in it's gaze. Then it took another powerful step closer. The water from the stream caressing its front paws, only to retreat as if nature itself feared the creature.

From just behind him, you softly whispered his name but he did not turn his head, never removing his gaze from the wolf.

Piercing, blue eyes locked with burning, red eyes.

Ivar reached back and unsheathed the dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. A gift from Floki. With iron in hand, Ivar unleashed his own furious growl.

"Come on! Don't you know who I am?" He yelled at the creature, born of darkness and fire. He smacked his chest with the flat of his dagger. "I am Ivar the Boneless! You can't kill me! Now come on!"

The air crackled like lightning and thunder covered the sky, even though no clouds could be seen in the vast, blue sky. Time ceased, the Norns pausing their eternal spinning to bare witness. A life thread would be cut today. Ivar refused to let it be yours.

The spawn of Fenrir released a howl that seemed to shake the very ground they stood on. The trees quaked and trembled. The water swirled under the sheer force of it's howl.

A righteous fury arose like a storm within Ivar. Tremendous waves that would break ships crashed and roiled just under his skin.

"What are you waiting for? I laugh at death!" Ivar taunted. "Come on! I shall kill you today!"

Red eyes remained locked with blue eyes.

A terrifying snarl escaped past the confines of it's mouth. It lifted a paw, ready to place it in the water, ready to cross and bring forth the destruction it was bred for.

Then it stopped.

A sneer played on the face of the youngest Ragnarsson. He knew that even if the creature killed him, Odin would happily welcome him into Valhalla. For what greater honor would there be but to fight a monster the gods themselves feared and to win. Even if it ushered in his own death. What did he need to fear with the knowledge of Valhalla waiting for him.

He only hoped to spare you from the dangerous touch of death. It was not yet time for you to return to the gods.

Suddenly, the wolf dropped it's paw back to the mossy ground. Lowering it's head slightly, those furious eyes remained fixated on Ivar. Lips curled back in a silent snarl.

Then as if a spell had been broken, it took a step back in retreat.

And then another.

And another.

Slowly, it slicked back into the covering of the surrounding forest. Red eyes never leaving the blue eyes that gazed after it in confusion. It's black coat blended into the shadows of the forest. Just as silently as it arrived, destruction promised with each step, it disappeared.

Neither Ivar or you moved for several minutes. Tension and adrenaline hummed through your veins as you both waited for the monsterous wolf to return. In those minutes, time itself restarted once more. Nature reemerged from where it had hid. The singing of birds filled the air and the quiet gurgles of the stream coaxed a resemblance of peace again. Even the sunlight streamed down warmer and brighter than before.

"Ivar, are you alright?" You asked, once you must have deemed it safe to move. With your sword still in hand, you dropped onto your knees next to him.

Taking a deep breath like he had been underwater for too long, he shifted his body around to sit on his ass. In the movement, he accidently brought himself closer to you. His heart faltered when he realized the proximity he unintentionally created. Your breath fanned across his face as you stared wide-eyed at him. It took an embarrassingly long moment for his brain to remember your question and not get lost in your alluring eyes and intoxicating presence.

"Uh, I'm….I'm fine….and you?"

"I…." You shook your head then turned your face to look in the direction the wolf disappeared to. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Do you think it's gone?"

"I hope so."

He blinked as he stared at the expanse of trees across the stream. How could a creature like that just appear then disappear? What had drawn it forth? Would it come for Kattegat next? Should he tell his mother about this? Did they need to prepare Kattegat for a war with this enemy of the gods themselves?

Feeling eyes on him, he turned back, startled to find you staring at him. "What?"

"It….it was you….you scared it away."

"What?" He accidently barked in surprise.

You huffed, still kneeling next to him. "Ivar, think about it. Something like that. A creature like that!" You gestured in the direction the wolf had been. "The only reason it would back down would be if it met a bigger predator than itself."

His mind froze. Refusing to decipher your statement. Unable to believe the words coming from your mouth and their meaning. His insecurities battled with the unknown truth now spoken aloud.

A gentle hand cupped the side of his face, causing his heart to soar under your touch, forcing his eyes to meet yours. Something swirled and danced in your eyes, threatening to drag him under and drown him. As long as you continued to behold him like this, to touch him like this, he would readily drown in you.

Your thumb stroked his cheekbone as you whispered, something akin to admiration in your tone. "I think…. I think we have all underestimated you, Ivar the Boneless."

Words tangled up in knots on his tongue. An embarrassing warmth colored his cheeks as he flushed under your praise. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he had somehow died and this was Valhalla.

"You are made to do great things. Even Fenrir cannot stop you from your destiny it would seem." You stared into his eyes, searching, seeking, finding, reevaluating. Then you ever so slowly drew closer. With the softest of caresses, you pressed your lips against his cheek for a moment before drawing back. "Thank you….for coming to my aid….for defending me. I won't ever forget it."

Air was no longer needed to breathe. Gravity no longer tethered him to the ground. For all Ivar knew, he could float amongst the clouds now.

A sweet giggle brought him out of his inner revelry, along with the feeling of your hand gently caressing his face on its way down to land back in your lap. He immediately missed the sensation of your touch and wished he had the words to ask you to return it.

Smiling, you smoothly glided to your feet. After one last look towards where death had stood not long ago, you glanced back down at your companion. "Come on, Prince Ivar. We should be getting back before the sun sets."

He nodded his agreement. Although, truthfully, he wished to linger in your presence, this intimate, comfortable moment that you found yourselves in. To maybe find the courage to ask you to allow him to touch you, to caress your face or hold your hand, even for just a brief second. Instead, he watched you wander over and grab your sword's sheath from the ground where it had previously laid. Skillfully, you slipped your sword into its sheath and then onto your hip. Lastly, you tucked a dagger back into your boot and one up your sleeve before turning around to face him.

"Besides, after this, I feel like you've earned the right to travel by my side instead of following me and then hiding in those bushes above. I can't imagine it's comfortable." You teased with a wink.

A blush returned to stain his cheeks at being caught. It did nothing to stop his heart from soaring at the notion that you would not reject his presence in the future. That maybe it would just be the two of you again in your safe haven. On second thought, he might suggest a new location for you to find solace after this….encounter.

He watched you scurry up the slope nimbly. Once at the top, you turned around to wait for him with a smile on your face. A beautiful, beaming smile….for him. His heart thudded in his chest as he gazed back at you.

Carefully, he slipped the dagger back into his sheath on his thigh and prepared the grueling climb up the side of the cliff. But knowing you waited at the top for him, it was worth it.

On instinct, Ivar turned to look towards the spot where the wolf had been. Nothing remained that showed of the creature that had stood there only minutes ago. Almost as it was a mirage instead of flesh and blood. A bloodthirsty grin spread over his lips as he thought about the words you said. How it was him that caused the wolf to back down. How it was him that the beast recognized as the greater predator.

With that in mind, he turned to follow you up the slope.

Even with his useless legs, even with his insecurities and faults, even with the doubt and pity spewed upon him daily that made his blood boil in rage….even with all of that, he was still the apex predator.

Maybe the blessing of Odin had not abandoned him after all.

Tag List: Vikings (all):

@youbloodymadgenius @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille88 @quantumlocked310

Ivar:

At hearing his terror-laden words, instead of sinking into the pit of despair and hopelessness, a shot of determination infused itself into your blood. With a sudden resolution coating your spine, you stood up from the chair you had been waiting in with baited breath. No one was going to save you and the crew. That was a fact. Maybe, though, you could do something to bargain with the pirates. Maybe, just, maybe, there was a chance. A fool's hope….but you had to try. 

On instinct, you quickly ran a hand over your gown, smoothing any wrinkles you may have gotten while sitting at the cabin window. Your mother and governess had ingrained into you to always appear your best, in whatever form that may take. You hoped one day to be able to tell them you still heeded their words when preparing to meet bloodthirsty pirates. You just had to survive the encounter. 

Standing tall and poised, like the lady you were, you started towards the cabin door, uncertain what awaited you on the other side. 

"M'lady! You can't–" 

You spun on your heel and glared at him. "Either I wait here for my inevitable demise, for these pirates will find me, that is assured. Or I seek them out first and can walk with my head held high. I will not dishonor my family's name nor will I be marked a coward in the face of this danger!" 

As the young sailor stared silently at you in awe, easily recognizable on his boyish face, you stepped past him and threw open the door to your assigned cabin. Taking a steeling breath, you proceeded towards the deck where you could hear the terrible commotion. 

The morning had started out like any other while you were on your father's schooner traveling the Caribbean waters. It was ironic you thought now. Your father had been apprehensive about allowing you to travel. Yet you had vehemently fought, claiming the waters around your island were some of the safest in the Caribbean and that you wanted to visit your friend, a fellow Governor's daughter, who lived on the island the schooner was traveling to. Eventually he gave in and allowed you to go. In addition, he chose to assign you personally in charge of his correspondence instead of sending his usual man. You were stupidly proud for the responsibility and hoped this further proved to your father you could be useful for more than just a beneficial marriage arrangement.

The next day the schooner set sail from port with you aboard it. The first tastes of freedom danced upon your tongue, bringing a smile to your face. The wind blowing through your hair and the spray of the salty water against your skin made you feel more alive than any elegant party you were forced to attend by your mother's insistence. 

Even this morning's sunrise was a masterpiece, the rich, warm colors blazing across the sky, chasing away the darkness of night and heralding a beautiful day. 

Then four hours ago, a ship had been spotted following yours. 

The captain was an admirable seaman, one of the best in your father's fleet. Unfortunately, accompanying his vast wealth of experience and knowledge, closely followed his arrogance. After a brief hesitation, he dismissed the concern of some of the sailors and told them to continue onward. The questionable ship was most likely another traveling merchant for the weather was fair and it was prime season for trading. 

But everything fell apart as that questionable ship quickly drew closer. Then an hour ago, it unfurled the Jolly Roger flag. Which only meant one thing. 

Pirates. 

The captain forcibly demanded you to wait in your cabin while he and his men tried everything to outrun the pirates. Even as you hurried down the wooden ladder, almost getting bowled over by sailors running around like headless chickens, you knew the outcome was inevitable. 

Then shouts and cries of dismay echoed from the deck, flooding your cabin as a second flag was raised, signaling which pirate ship was coming for them. 

A black sail with a skeleton holding a pistol in one hand and a cap on its head.  

The Peaky Blinders pirates. 

Now your doom was truly assured. 

The fight began far sooner than you expected. Neither side had even attempted to fire their cannons. The dark, dreaded ship seemed to suddenly appear beside the schooner, as if the wind and waves favored the vessel. From your cabin window, you could make out the figurehead on their ship- a barely clad woman with the face replaced by a skull. A fearful shudder shot down your spine.

Hiding away in your cabin, you listened as your father's men fought valiantly against the marauding pirates. The sounds dragged on ceaselessly. The clash of swords. The explosions of pistols. The cries and screams of the injured and dying. The blood-curling, manic laughter and war cries of the pirates. Even the water below began to rise and fall more drastically, as if sensing the chaos and expanding upon it. 

Never before had you heard the sounds of battle and you prayed to never hear them again. 

Eventually the sounds died away, along with any minimal hope of your father's sailors succeeding against the Blinders. You wondered why the pirates had not searched the ship yet. Surely they sought to plunder what they could from your father's vessel. Then they would find you. 

And what then? 

So you resolved to seek them out first. It was fool-hardy and rash. Everything you were taught not to be. The likelihood of your imprisonment and death increased with each step but you did not stop. The panic clawing at you was squashed with the booted heels of your fortitude. You were your father's daughter. A governor's daughter. Your worth and esteem were far beyond anything these pirates could ever hope to achieve. 

As gracefully as possible, which was not much unfortunately, you ascended the ladder leading up to the main deck. Whatever dramatic entrance you had hoped to achieve was null and void for your gown caught on the last step and gave a dramatic rip. Mumbling under your breath, you cursed the pretty but otherwise useless gown as you stepped off the ladder and onto the deck. 

The sight you beheld froze the very air in your lungs and made your heart plummet to the dark depths of the ocean below your feet. 

The sailors still breathing sat bound with ropes against the hull of the ship. Many were still painted in blood, either their own or of the pirates they had managed to kill. The dead sailors were piled in an unsightly heap towards the bow of the ship. Lastly, your captain had been tied to the main mast of the schooner, back pressed to the wood. The gag in his mouth was turning red with the blood dripping from his crooked nose. 

Yet it was none of those sights which chilled you to your very core. No, it was the unobstructed view of the many pirates swarming like ants on the deck of your father's ship and their own dark ship, tethered alongside yours with hooks and ropes. 

"Oh ho! Lookie who we've got 'ere, boys. A real fookin' lady." 

Startled, your head swiveled, seeking out the owner of the brusque voice. A well of wariness transformed into a sea of anxiety, rolling and crashing against your ribcage. It was now as you met the blue eyes of the pirate, the consequences of your actions cleared a path before you, highlighting the stupidity and hopelessness of it. Still, you straightened up, drawing your shoulders back and lifting your chin slightly. Your knees may be trembling under your dress but you refused to show it. 

The pirate who had spoken, drawing unwanted attention to the two of you, stood behind you, leaning against the stair-railing leading up to the helm. With a push, he sauntered over to you, his steps not exactly even and you wondered if it had to do anything with the bottle he had in hand. Blood droplets slid down his face, seemingly gathering in this thick mustache, making him seem to have a perpetual bloody frown. You could spot blood splatters on the front of his white shirt and dark jacket. He ambled over, his proximity uncomfortably close. Tilting his head, his gaze scanned you, starting from your feet and rising like the tide to your face. His eyes met yours and you could not help the unconscious step back you took. There was something unbalanced in his gaze; like a sweet cat that purred when given a treat, but just as easily flipped to become sadistic as it played and tormented its prey. 

"Think this is 'er, John boy?"

Another pirate approached with an easy, relaxed gait. A thick splinter of wood lulled about in the corner of his mouth, following the curve as his lips raised in a smirk. This one was not bathed in blood like the first, thankfully, but he appeared no less threatening. Twin pistols hung within view just inside his jacket, and you could not help but wonder if one of those weapons had killed your father's men. This new pirate, a John boy, looked you up and down, but instead of feeling intimidating like the other, it seemed more cheeky and mischievous.

"I reckon it could be….too many clothes on to tell." He winked at you. A gaping hole opened up in your stomach at his implication. 

The first pirate chuckled darkly, reaching over to grab a fist full of fabric at your hips. 

Immediately you spun and smacked his hand away with more force than strictly necessary. "You will not touch me, you miscreant." You spat at him, anger coating each syllable, only just barely hiding the fear brewing within you. "I am the governor's daughter and you will treat me with the respect afforded to my station."

Some snickering and laughter erupted from the other pirates nearby that heard your brash statement. It appeared the others were enjoying watching the spectacle. One of the pirates called out 'I'll show 'er my respect' causing more jeers and laughter to follow in its wake. Dread slithered up your torso to wrap around your chest like a constrictor. You tried to swallow but your mouth and throat felt as dry as the height of summer under the scorching sun. 

The one behind you, John you thought, seemed to laugh the loudest. His eyes danced with mirth as he smacked his companion's back still next to you. "A real firecracker this one is, eh?"

"Yeah, nothin' but trouble for us. Mark me words." The first grumbled, watching you like he was tempted to throw you overboard and just be done with your infuriating presence. 

You straightened up, ignoring the terror tainting the blood in your veins. "I heard you are led by a man called Shelby. I demand to speak with him."

"Yeah? Well it's your lucky day, love. You've found yourself two Shelbys." 

"What?"

The smiling one continued, gesturing to himself and then his companion. "I'm John Shelby, and this 'ere is me brother, Arthur Shelby."

"No…" You shook your head as you looked between the brothers and then glanced at those around. The brothers and many others wore the infamous peaked caps which had given the pirates their name and calling card of terror and death. Something tinkled the back of your mind, somehow you knew, you just knew these two brothers were not the one you were looking for. "I've heard you're led by a….a Thomas. Thomas Shelby."

The first one, Arthur, eyed you skeptically then shrugged. "You're wanting the other one then. OI! TOMMY! THE LADY WANTS TO TALK TO YA!" 

You jumped slightly as the man suddenly shouted, your heart speeding up like a racehorse taking off. Seemingly sensing your discomfort, he grinned down at you before looking over at his brother. 

"This'll be fun to watch."

"My money's on the girl." John replied, still smirking. 

Arthur hummed. "Two coins."

The brothers bumped their fists together, grinning like fiends at their bet. 

But you barely heard their words, for everything had become just background noise as your eyes were locked on the man marching your way. Each step was taken with such authority, such assurance, like he owned the world and he was just biding his time until revelation came and the world submitted to him. His jacket flapped in the breeze behind him, giving the illusion of his shadow coming to life to haunt his steps. His peaked cap was pulled low over his face but somehow you just knew that his eyes missed nothing. 

As he walked over, John slid closer to Arthur, making room for the third Shelby to join the circle of entertainment for those watching. Thomas stood next to you and immediately all the fine hairs on your arms and the back for your neck stood at attention. Although he had not spoken a word yet, the aura of danger hanging around him like a noose was almost suffocating to you. Even with all the guns and pistols, all the swords and daggers decorating the pirates, the spilled blood and the sickly sweet stench of gunsmoke lingering in the air, you knew that the most dangerous thing on board either ship was the pirate now standing beside you.

Then when his gaze found yours, a shiver of both heat and ice coursed through you. Those stormy eyes held you captive far more than any chain ever could. And it was in that moment you realized how wildly inaccurate the rumors and whispers of the shadowed leader of the Peaky Blinder pirates was. There was a calculating intelligence there that easily rivaled any businessman or lord you had ever encountered. Here was not a madman like he was made out to be. No, this was a man who knew how to play the game, who knew how to obtain what he wanted, whose ambition bleed from him just as much as the predatory presence he so casually wore. 

His gaze reminded you of a man you had met long ago, who kept a hawk for hunting. Those same piercing eyes you saw in the hawk now met your gaze in the pirate. And with the way he was staring at you, you automatically knew he saw you as prey who he was just waiting to swoop in and devour. You wondered when the flimsy cage would break and his instincts would overtake him, just like that pet hawk you had encountered. 

"So you're the governor's daughter, eh?" 

If you lacked better self-control, your jaw would have dropped at the smooth voice that came out of his mouth. It was unnatural for such a charming, intriguing voice to come from….from a pirate! It was like the perfectly aged, fine wines that your mother coveted jealously; something you wanted to take a sip of and swirl around in your mouth to taste every flavorful note in it. 

You rapidly blinked, dismissing the romantic notion of his voice and focused on the pirate beside you who wore a blank expression. "And you must be Thomas Shelby, infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders."

He hummed then stepped closer, his jacket sleeve brushing your bare arm briefly. "Not many are privy to that knowledge. How did you come by it?"

"Unlike most respectable ladies who only worry about the latest fashion or fetching themselves a handsome match, I listen and I ask questions. For knowledge is a far more superior tool than any gun or sword could ever hope to be." 

His eyes widened momentarily, clearly not expecting your outburst or the hostility in your voice. 

Before he could speak, you continued, never once tearing your gaze away from his. "I am here to parlay with you for the release of these sailors and their freedom."

"Is that so?" The corners of his lips twitched in response. 

You internally questioned if he was amused by your zealous request, but it did not matter, as long as he listened you hoped for a positive outcome. "Yes. They are good men and do not deserve death."

"Hmmm…and what do you have to equal in value for their lives?" 

You paused, for here was the gamble that had been playing out in your mind. You could only hope the dice was in your favor. "There is a small fortune on this schooner. I will hand it over to you without complaint on your word that with it, you will release these sailors and allow them to return home without further harm."

"And you would trust my word? The word of a pirate?"

Staring into his icy blue eyes that somehow caused your heart to burn with something you had yet to experience, the words sprouted from your mouth before you realized what you had said. "I would trust your word alone, Mr. Shelby."

His gaze kept yours ensnared, refusing you release. He stared at you, seeming to peer right into your soul, to probe into the very core of your being. You should have been frightened at the intrusion. You should have wretched yourself away from his gaze and dropped your eyes to the ground like a proper lady. Instead, you stared back, allowing him to see the sincerity of your request. 

After a long moment, he finally gave a slow nod. "Alright. You have me word. The men will be released."

"Thank you." You breathed out, not realizing until now how you had held your breath while maintaining eye contact. 

In the next breath, you told the other two brothers where exactly the small fortune of gemstones were hidden in your cabin. With their excited cheers filling your ears, they dashed down the ladder and presumably to your cabin. 

Then you were left standing there on the deck with Thomas, his jacket sleeve still barely brushing your arm and sending shivers through your body. With a tone invoking confidence and leaving no room for argument, he barked out several orders, sending some of the pirates scurrying about. 

It was now with his focus off of you, were you truly able to admire the beauty of the man. The defined cheekbones and sharp jawline. Those full lips that appeared soft despite his hardened exterior. Even his physique was attractive with wide shoulders over his agile frame. It was those eyes though, the unholy burning in them that captivated you the most. He was truly the most beautiful man you had ever met. 

As if that thought summoned his attention, his gaze swung back to you. Butterflies erupted in your belly, dancing the foxtrot and bringing an embarrassing warmth to your face. Hastily, your eyes sought out the sea, hoping the rise and fall of the waves could settle your heart and nerves somehow. You sensed the weight of his eyes on you but purposefully kept your gaze away. 

A loud groan came from one of the sailors still tied to the hull. Your eyes drifted to them for a fleeting moment, taking in the evidence of brutality that must have faced when fighting off the pirates. As an overflow of water saturated your eyes, you swiftly averted your gaze back to the sea. If you thought about your situation too long, you feared you would crumble. Now you needed to remain strong and resilient. So with your chin held high, and appearing aloof to the pirate beside you, you settled for watching the crashing and rolling waves just on the other side of the ship. 

"You are not what I expected."

You stiffened at his unexpected statement. Still staring at the Caribbean waters, you blandly replied. "I apologize for the disappointment."

"On the contrary, you could never be a disappointment."

Your head whipped around to look at the pirate, shock clouding your mind. Especially when he met your gaze with a look of indifference, as if he had only made a passing comment about the weather. Butterflies erupted anew in your belly. Your mouth suddenly felt dry and you subconsciously licked your lips, prepared to question him about his statement. 

At that moment, his brothers climbed up the ladder, with beaming smiles on their faces. Arthur lifted up the small, velvet bag into the air and proclaimed that Fate turned her face favorably upon them today. The cheering erupting from the pirates both still on the schooner and on their pirate ship was enough to wake the dead. 

Yet the whole time your mind could only focus on one exact detail amidst the rambunctious celebration. As you licked your lips, those piercing eyes had followed the action fervently and something distinctly hungry had ignited in them for a second. But within the next blink of your eyes, it was gone. 

"How did you come by all these jewels, eh? Steal 'em from someone?" Arthur chuckled at his own jest, handing the bag over to Thomas, who peeked inside and raised a single eyebrow before closing the bag and slipping it into his pocket. 

"Does it matter?" You retorted, not about to admit it was part of your dowry and gifted to you by your late grandmother. You turned your gaze back to the leader of the pirates. "You have your promised fortune. Now release my father's men."

"Indeed I do." He stared at you for a long, tense moment, before he gave the order. "Free the sailors…and put them in the row boat."

"What? That wasn't–" 

Thomas interrupted you, a formidable smirk plastered across his mouth that betrayed exactly how he felt about manipulating your request to his advantage. "You said to release them. You gave no further details, yeah? So that left it up to me own whims about how exactly they should be released and where."

"But–" 

"And an island is within view. They will be able to row safely there by the end of the day. From there, they can find another vessel to return to your father and inform him of the pirating of his ship and goods." His smirk lost the predatory touch and morphed into someone more thoughtful as he looked around your father's ship. "Besides, I like this schooner. It'll be an excellent addition to my fleet."

Your heart pounded like a war drum inside of your chest. Anxiety twisted and rolled like snakes in your belly. Your head swiveled to watch the sailors having their bonds cut and then roughly hauled up by the jeering pirates and towards the single rowboat. Surely it could not hold all the men easily? It would capsize! 

One of the sailors started to fight back, a young man you had known since childhood. He struggled against the two pirates half-dragging him towards the starboard side of the ship, curses spilling like oil from his mouth. For the briefest second, your eyes met his and you willed him to cease his futile fight. His freedom was at hand, why was he only making things worse for himself? Then he silently mouthed your name and increased his struggle. He managed to land a punch to one of the pirates that knocked him to the deck with a loud thud. Like a swarm, several pirates gathered around your childhood friend, beating him back into submission. With the extra help, they bodily threw the sailor overboard. You winced when you heard the answering splash. 

"What of the captain?" John asked softly, having returned to his spot next to his brothers. "He insulted us. Fookin' bastard."

That explained why he was gagged like a common criminal, but you chose not to comment, a sense of dread rising in you like clogging smoke.

Thomas mulled it over, a wrathful disquiet emanating from his presence. "Arthur," the other brother turned his heavy gaze from the bound captain to his brother. "He insulted you. I believe an eye would be adequate recompense."

The answering smile, his mustache still coated in blood, looked purely sinister and malevolent. Like a shark with the scent of blood in the water, his eyes gleamed manically. Without another word, he stomped over, already pulling the peaked cap off his head. 

The pirates still lingering about hooted and cheered as Arthur approached the now squirming captain, the gag muffling what most assuredly was begging and pleading for mercy. 

But here, he would find none.  

"No, please, don't do it." You begged, even though you knew in your gut it was futile. 

"Too late, love." John chuckled, his gaze locked on the gruesome ordeal about to occur. 

Without thought, your feet took a step forward, ready to intervene. But before you could take another step, a calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, preventing any further movement. A gentle but demanding tug made you fall back to his side again. Lifting your head, you opened your mouth to demand this atrocity cease, but the first scream from the captain cut through your mind, making the words vanish on your tongue. 

Nausea crawled up your throat, the initial threat to your stomach emptying its contents right there on the deck. Your hand covered your mouth in both horror and an attempt to not be sick. 

Lips brushed the top of your ear as a smooth voice murmured quietly for you alone. "No one will look less upon you for not watching."

You wanted to watch, to prove him wrong, that you were made of sterner material, but with another round of screams echoing in your mind like the sea gulls' cries, you turned away. On instinct, you pressed your forehead against the shoulder next to you, eyes squeezed tight even though it did nothing to blot out the sounds. Later you would question your sanity for seeking comfort from the very pirate who ordered the mutilation. Then to your surprise, you felt the hand still shackling you, turn just enough and a thumb press to the palm of your hand. It slowly swiped back and forth as if giving the resemblance of comfort in the agonizing moment. 

Thankfully, the horrifying ordeal was not dragged out. With blood streaming from both eye sockets, the captain was lowered to his men waiting in the rowboat. You had heard the Blinders would take an eye in payment to any captain they captured and released. All you could assume was one eye was for this payment and the other was for the debt incurred by the insult. 

Silently, you took a step in the direction of the rowboat, what strength and fortitude you possessed was draining away like dirty rainwater. You hoped the rowboat had room for everyone. Thoughts of the captain and his maiming made your stomach turn over and the nausea returned. Your gown was most likely cleaner than the clothing the sailors wore, surely they could help you tear some off to use as binding. There was already a large tear near the hem, it would not be difficult to rip the fabric from that spot. 

Yet the shackle around your wrist prevented you from moving further away and joining your father's men. 

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To the boat." You looked up in confusion to the pirate still physically keeping you by his side. 

He hummed thoughtfully, glancing in the direction of where the rowboat lay out of sight, before meeting your gaze calmly. "That was not part of the deal."

At his words, your heart oozed from your ribcage and splattered on the deck beneath your feet. 

"I'm not done with you yet, darling." He crooned. Gaze never leaving yours, he lifted your hand still ensnared in his and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. 

You despised how your heart fluttered like a bird's wing and your skin tingled where his lips touched you. Such a courtly action from a pirate, who eventually would meet his demise at the end of the rope. It was unseemingly how your body betrayed you, especially with the cruelty you just bore witness to under his orders. You should be repulsed by him, but that sensation never even crossed your mind. 

Finally freeing you from his hold, he turned to his brother, still standing nearby. "John, take her to my cabin."

You glared at the pirate captain with all the malice your body possessed, which only seemed to amuse him. He gave you a cheeky wink then sauntered away, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped to speak with an clearly older pirate, based on his graying hair and weather-lined face, who was eyeing the rigging critically and muttering to himself. 

"C'mon, love. Best not to anger 'im."

When John tried to grab your upper arm, you yanked it out of his grasp. "I am fully capable of walking myself, thank you very much." You spat at him, completely devoid of any social decorum instilled into you. 

He grinned broadly, seemingly unoffended by your harsh words and attitude. "Oh, you'll be fun. Aunt Pol is going to love you."

You had no idea what that meant nor were you inclined to find out. Yet it appeared you no longer had a choice in the matter. Like a prisoner following the hangman to the gallows, you walked just behind the Shelby brother. Terror and panic attempted to cling to you like thorny tendrils but everything felt dulled, like a fog had crept into your mind. 

As you approached the pirate ship, the Jolly Roger and their flag waving proudly like a standard under the Caribbean sun, the realization hit you anew, causing your knees to weaken and for you to stumble on the next step. 

You were truly a captive of the Peaky Blinders pirates. 

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