#osferth

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@chubbgal @cheesesandwichsanto @leftoverp1zza @rick133

@alexagirlie @viridian-dagger @jasminecosmic99 @grlwtskulltattoo @gemini-mama

But later in his life he found the true meaning. And now he believed those cursed words more than ever. He saw his lord and friends take wives, build homes. His desire for love, a home and to build—something to last for his family, it grew every day.

You needed money, a small patch of land, and an estate in order to have a wife. The recipe of a fulfilled life. That was what he told himself.

But he had nothing—no land to call his own, no field to cultivate, and only a small pouch at his belt filled with a few silver and copper coins.

In his eyes, it was nothing.

There was a celebration going on in the great hall. He couldn’t remember what Sihtric had said. Maybe something about a Danish god of light. He sadly didn’t remember. Something about giving thanks, which was all he remembered.

He sat in his lord’s hall, watching her—the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her laugh was pure and sweet, like church bells after a Sunday mass. Her eyes sparkled like crystal-clear water. He wanted to sink into them and drown helplessly.

But he had no house, no land, and certainly no money.

He was Osferth, bastard of King Alfred the Great. A warrior monk serving under his lord Uthred of Bebbenburg.

He laughed humourlessly under his breath. A bastard of noble birth and a sell sword.

“Are you alright, Osferth?” The sweet voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts.

He jumped and looked up to see her. A smile adorning her face, her hair framing it. “Ye-yes, of course.” He cursed himself for the trembling in his voice.

No land, no estate, no money—and now no steady voice, either, he thought bitterly, wanting to flog himself.

She sat beside him. Blood rushed to his cheeks as their shoulders brushed. “You shouldn’t be alone at such a monumental festivity as the summer solstice,” she murmured softly. Her smile made his heartbeat unbelievably fast.

“The others have gone to the bonfire. Their wives pulled them away to dance,” he mumbled shyly.

She nodded thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought of taking a wife of your own?”

He nearly spat out his ale. Yes, he thought. You. I want you as my wife.

“No, it is not my desire. Besides, I would not want to burden any woman with my bastard seed. My children would always be known as the children of Alfred the Great’s bastard.” He spoke bitterly, not meeting her softened eyes.

Because if he did, he would see pity there—the same look everyone gave him. The poor bastard monk. Osferth the discarded son.

But when he dared glance at her, he saw no pity. Only a warm smile, eyes shining like a clear stream, welcoming and kind.

“But what if there are some people who see only Osferth? Simply Osferth.” She smiled.

His heart fluttered, his eyes wide in surprise. Did such people truly exist? Was she thinking like this?! Was she one of the few people who saw him as simply Osferth?

His hands trembled softly. “You must introduce me to them then, for I cannot imagine they exist.” He spoke bitterly, taking a large gulp of his drink.

She suddenly rose and walked away from the table.

Osferth watched in confusion as she made her way through the crowded hall, then returned.

Her grin was intoxicating. “You must be Osferth—one of Lord Uhtred’s great warriors?” She held out her hand, introducing herself. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

His heart nearly gave out. Heat burned beneath his skin as blood rushed to his face. She introduced a person who only saw him.

“Yes, I—I’m Osferth, my lady,” he stammered, eyes wide. “Simply Osferth. I am no great fighter,” he mumbled under his breath. He forgot for a moment they already met. Her beauty made him forget everything.

But she heard him. “Nonsense! I’ve heard of your heroics. They say your swordsmanship is impressive, rivalling even some of the Danish warriors.”

Osferth prayed for the ground to open and swallow him whole. He felt as if he were burning from the inside out. How did he deserve such a divine creature? To bask in the presence of such a fine and kind woman.

“My lady, I must be blessed by God. You-you are the kindest soul this earth has seen. And I am but an unworthy sinner honoured to bask in your presence.”

He nearly fell to his knees in front of her. Her giggle was his undoing.

God must have a plan for him. He was sure of it.

He held her steady. Her thighs in his calloused hands as he moved above her. Her sweet sounds drifting into his ears.

His face was in her neck. Panting against her damp, sweet smelling skin.

“Is this alright?” He kissed her skin up to her jaw. Looking down at her blissed-out face. She could only nod. Her hands fisted in his hair.

He grunted, his hips moving faster. “How long do we have?” He whispered. Kissing her jaw down to the spot behind her ear. His fingers trailing down her bodice, over her bunched up skirts before they finally reached the destination between her legs.

“Minutes.” She panted. Looking to the side, out the ajar door. Osferth followed her gaze. “You think he wakes?” She shook her head. “You powered him out by carrying him all over the village and showing him everything.

Osferth grinned. His hips rolling into hers faster. “I want my boy to see the world!”

She giggled. “Our son is only a year old and can only say Mama, Papa and make a distinguished noise when he wants food.”

Her eyes went back to him. Her smile was bright; it nearly made him stop making love to her. But then she squeezed around him. A low groan escaped his throat. “Woman, do you want to kill me!” She grinned. “No, I want you to finish.” She teasingly whispered, softly kissing him.

It wasn't long before he groaned into her lips. He held her close to him. Savouring his wife's body heat.

“God has blessed me.” He mumbled softly against her skin. “You are my greatest treasure. And our son is my guiding light.”

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