#tlkoe oc

"I didn't mean to attack you," I blurted.

For a moment I was certain he would laugh. Or scowl. Or do something heroic and frightening.

Instead, he crouched.

"I don't think you did," he said, calmly.

He started handing my things back to me, one by one, like this was a normal thing that happened to him. Like women routinely threw baskets at his chest.

"Oh, no, you don't have to-" I reached for a handful of leaves and nearly knocked our heads together. I froze. "That's thyme. Please don't mix it with the feverfew. It makes it smell wrong. Not dangerous. Just wrong." I paused, looking up at him once more. "Yet, why would you mix them together when I am sure that you have no interest in anything like that."

I groaned at myself, and had to physically stop myself from smashing my skull off of the nearest tree.

I stopped talking too late.

I always stop too late.

I waited for the irritation. The sigh. The look that said why are you still making noise.

It didn't come.

"You can keep speaking," he said, as if granting me leave. "I don't mind."

I stared at him, and then gave him a polite smile, "bless your heart, stranger. You need not lie."

"No lie."

That unsettled me far more than anger would have. I may be strange, but he seemed to be much stranger, in a way that is foreign to myself.

I nodded, decisively, because that seemed wise, then immediately dropped the jar in my hand.

He caught it.

I gasped. "You have very fast hands."

"They’re useful," he said, passing it back to me.

"For… jar-saving," I said, not able to stop the words from leaving my mouth.

"For many things." He retorted with a wink.

I laughed before I could stop myself. It slipped out, crooked and startled, and once it was loose I couldn’t quite catch it again. I tried to hide it behind my mouth and failed.

Voices rose behind us. Men, boots, the sound of sharp edges and restlessness. My shoulders tightened without asking my permission.

He moved then. Just a step. Just enough that he was closer, solid in a way that made the air feel steadier.

I noticed. I always notice things like that.

"Thank you," I said quietly. Then rushed on, because silence makes me nervous. "For standing. Where you are standing. It helps."

I quickly gathered the remainder of my belongings, gave a polite nod and scurried away. Yet what I did not realise at the time, was how he watched me with a small smile.

From that day onwards, I began to see this man more often than not; it turned out that he was one of Lord Uhtred's men, and in turn, was everywhere all of the time.

I had never encountered a man like him. He stood, he stared. Most men would look away when caught staring, but this mysterious man did not. If anything, he stared more. Like it was a game.

I learned his name by accident.

I was passing through the yard with my arms full of linen when someone called out, "Sihtric," sharp and impatient.

He turned.

Not fully. Just enough to acknowledge the sound belonged to him.

And something in my chest did a strange, unhelpful thing.

"Sihtric," I repeated later, under my breath. For some unbeknownst reason, I did not intend to forget his name.

Unfortunately, he heard me.

"Yes?" he said, appearing at my side like he had been summoned rather than spoken of.

I startled badly enough that the linen slid halfway out of my arms.

Gritting my teeth together, and cursing as much as I could in the miniscule moment that I had, I slowly turned to face him. "Pardon?"

Pardon!? You have just said his name aloud you absolute imbecile.

His brow furrowed. "You called me?"

"I..." I slung the ben linen over one arm, and placed my know free hand on my hip, "I coughed."

A pause.

"No you did not, you said Sihtric."

I looked at him. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." He said through a laugh.

"Well that is settled then isn't it."

I dared to look at him, and saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His usually robotic stance disappeared, and a loud laugh escaped him. "No, it is not settled. What is going on?"

I don't know either Sihtric, I ask myself that question fifteen times a day.

"Well, Sihtric, if you must know, I have not known your name since throwing a jar at you and crawling before you in the mud on my hands and knees. This morning I heard someone call it, and for reasons beyond sense I decided it should not be forgotten. Unfortunately, I was overheard repeating it aloud, then attempted to pretend the entire thing had not occurred, and now it is very awkward, is it not, Sihtric?"

I stopped at last, dragged in a breath, wiped my hair from my face, and returned my hand to my hip.

"So, if that is all," I added briskly, "I shall be off. Likely to submerge my head in a boiling cauldron."

With that, I immediately began to walk away, hearing his laughter become quieter and quieter as the distance increased. Before turning a corner, I heard him call, "don't submerge your head!"

Very funny, Sihtric.

The next morning, I woke up as usual, tiredly pulling my clothes over my head as I verbally reminded myself of all the things I had to do that day. I am one of two monastery helpers, however, I do not spend much time with the other monastery helper. She is, in my humble opinion, an old witch who only seems to get joy through my misfortunes.

Despite her lack of care for me as a human being, this morning in particular, she knocked on my door loudly before entering almost immediately after- making the knock automatically irrelevant.

"Y/N." She said as she entered.

"Eadgyth." I responded, briefly looking over my shoulder at her, before continuing dressing. I stumbled slightly as I did, and then steadied myself.

"Mind yourself girl, before you break something useful." Her wretched voice spoke.

I laughed in response, "there is nothing useful in here." I spoke, gesturing to my tiny room that was filled by absolutely nothing but a narrow bed and an old wooden chest. Despite my words being true, she rolled her eyes nonetheless.

"One of Lord Uhtred's men was asking about you last night, asking for you name and where you come from." Eadgyth told me, her voice lacking emotion.

I arched a brow, and nodded my head forwards, signalling her to continue.

"I don't know his name. But I told him about you anyways."

I cursed at those words, because she may well have said 'I told him all of the negative things possible about you.' but I held my tongue.

"Oh, that is bizarre." I replied, not wanting to seem too intrigued.

"That is not why I am telling you," Eadgyth said. Her voice, usually sharp, honed itself further. "I am telling you so that you keep away from him."

I looked at her then.

"Warriors are poison, Y/N."

Yes mother, I thought.

Hours later, it was time to check on the kitchen staff.

Since Lord Uhtred's arrival, one of my new and exciting duties, sense the sarcasm, was to ensure that he and his men were well looked after. A large part of that involved making certain meals appeared when expected, hot and plentiful, because apparently warriors could fight, bleed, and threaten kings, but could not wait patiently for bread.

As though I did not already have enough to do.

The kitchen was loud when I arrived. Steam curled toward the rafters, spoons clanged against pots, and someone was shouting about onions as if they had personally betrayed him.

"Y/N!"

I turned just in time to see Marta waving at me with a flour-dusted hand. Marta was everything I was not: broad-shouldered, quick to laugh, and unafraid of anyone who walked on two legs. She served food with the confidence of someone who would gladly strike a man with a ladle if he complained.

"Come here," she said, grinning. "Before someone eats something they should not."

"That sounds ominous," I replied, weaving between tables. "Is it poisonous, or merely offensive?"

"Both, depending on taste," she said cheerfully, then leaned closer. "You missed some excitement last night."

I sighed. "Please tell me it involved neither fire nor blood."

"No promises," she said, eyes bright. "One of Uhtred’s men was asking about you."

My stomach did something unpleasant.

"I am aware," I said carefully.

Marta blinked. "Oh. Then you know."

"I know Eadgyth told him things," I said. "Which is to say, I know I should begin digging my grave now."

She laughed outright. "That old crow? No. She barely said anything."

I stopped walking, my brow furrowing.

"Barely anything?"

Marta nodded. "He came in late, all polite and quiet, hovering like he didn't know where to put himself. Asked who the girl was who carried herbs and tripped over nothing."

Heat crept up my neck. "That is… an unkind description."

"I thought it was affectionate," Marta said, unhelpfully. "He said you were beautiful, you know."

I nearly walked into a table.

"He did not."

"Oh, he did," she said, delighted. "Called you peculiar, too. But not like an insult. Like he liked that part best."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

"What exactly did he say?"

Marta squinted, thinking. "Something like, 'The quiet one who talks like her thoughts are racing her feet.' Then he asked your name."

My heart thudded, traitorous and loud.

"And Eadgyth?" I asked faintly.

"She grunted," Marta said. "Said you were trouble and broke things. Which, fair."

I huffed, and then nodded in agreement.

"But then," Marta continued, lowering her voice, "he smiled. Said he didn't mind trouble if it came in the form of a beautiful woman."

I stared at her.

"Well," I said weakly. "That is… unfortunate."

Marta beamed. "I think it is sweet."

"Eadgyth called warriors poison."

Marta pursed her lips, "yeah, well, she is only offended because he told her she had the warmth of a damp cellar and the bedside manner of a tax collector."

I choked.

"He did not."

"Oh, he did," Marta said cheerfully. "Asked her-"

"Are you talking about that sour faced woman?"

Martha and I both snapped our heads towards the door.

Sihtric was there. Standing in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame, calm and impossibly tall, looking like he belonged to some story I wasn't allowed to read. My face immediately burned.

Marta's eyes widened and twinkled. "Oh. Well. I'll just…" She stepped back a few paces, pretending to fuss with a pot. "Give you two some… privacy."

I nearly protested, but she was already sweeping toward the far side of the kitchen, humming loudly, clearly delighted to be gone.

And just like that, the room felt smaller.

Sihtric took a slow step inside, hands still resting at his sides like he wasn't about to make me faint.

"You're well," he said.

"I- Yes. I am. Not poisoned," I squeaked. Why would I be?

He gave a tiny smile. "Good."

Silence, thick enough that I considered apologising to the air for existing. Then he leaned casually against a table, elbows resting on the edge, and regarded me with that same unsettling calm.

"I was hoping I might see you," he said.

I choked. "Hoping? That sounds… suspiciously like a compliment."

"Perhaps it is," he said, shrugging, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Or a warning."

My heart stumbled. "A warning?"

"Yes," he said, stepping a little closer. "Stay out of trouble. But trouble tends to be… more interesting when it talks too much."

I tried to glare. Failed. "I do not talk too much."

"You do," he said quietly, leaning even nearer, enough that I could smell the faint tang of earth and iron on him. "And I like it."

I froze. Words refused to leave my mouth. I tried to nod politely, but it came out as a twitch of my chin.

He tilted his head. "You're peculiar."

"That… is not necessarily a compliment, I have been told." I whispered, unable to stop my eyes from naturally rolling to the back of my head.

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "It is when you're beautiful."

I blinked. Heart hammering. Breathing shallow. Heat rising, creeping all the way up my neck.

"Oh," I managed, "I think you might have lost your vision in one of your fights." I joked. Tried too, anyway.

He leaned closer, only slightly. "You are wrong." He said simply.

And for the first time, in I think my entire life, I was speechless.

A 'thank you' wanted to escape my lips, but for some reason, my throat trapped it deep within me and I could not formulate anything even close to a word. Instead showing a very honest grin, that I could not hide. It seems like I was unable to do many things in this moment, which seems silly when you consider the reason for my incapability's: A man told me I was beautiful.

A man had never called me beautiful before.

Sihtric may not mean his words; he may be gracing me with a kindness that I needed. But I choose to believe them all the same.

If it means that I can feel like a proper woman, just for a moment.

He watched my smile fade into something softer, something I had not practiced in a mirror.

Then he straightened.

The air shifted with him, as though the moment had been folded away carefully rather than discarded.

"When are you free?" He asked.

I blinked. "Free?"

"Yes," he said, plainly. "To see me."

Oh.

"I am… not," I said quickly. Too Quickly. Cringing at myself, I blurted, "free, I mean. I am always working."

He frowned, just slightly. "Always?"

"Yes," I nodded, relieved to have a sensible answer. "There is always something to do. Meals, cleaning, errands, herbs, Eadgyth-"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, not unkindly.

I faltered. "Pardon?"

"No one is always working," he said. "They are simply not asked to stop."

I did not know what to say to that.

He stepped closer again, not enough to crowd me, just enough that I could feel his attention settle fully on me.

"Tonight," he said.

My heart stumbled. "Tonight?"

"Yes." A pause. "You will have a drink with me." Another pause. "Do you drink?"

"Of course I drink," I laughed. "I know I am not supposed too. Woman of god and all." I gestured to the cross around my neck before continuing, "But I do not think I would get through my days without an ale at the end of it."

He smiled widely, though still upholding the same eye contact, "Perfect. I will see you tonight then."

I opened my mouth to refuse. Or explain. Or list the many reasons why I should not be drinking with a warrior I had thrown a jar at.

Nothing came out.

He smiled, just a little. "After supper. When your duties are done."

"Ok then, Sihtric." I smiled.

"Good. Ok then, Y/N." He smiled in return.

He turned toward the door, "I will find you,” he added over his shoulder.

And so, after hours of doing my hair, and then undoing my hair, and redoing it again, I sat next to Sihtric while he told me all about where he is from, how he met his friends, what his family were like. I told him all about my pathetic background, and after the seventh drink, I confessed stories to him that I swore to myself I would never share with another soul. After I had lost count of how much liquid I had poured down my throat, Sihtric offered to walk me home.

It was outside the gates that he stopped.

I turned, still smiling, still warm from drink and laughter, and found him closer than before. His hand came up, hesitated, then settled at my waist as if it had always known where it belonged.

"You're unsteady," he murmured.

"I am fine," I said, swaying slightly and proving myself a liar.

He smiled, soft and fond, and leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to step away.

I didn't.

His lips brushed mine, gentle and tentative, like he was asking a question without words. I froze for half a breath, startled by the simple intimacy of it.

Then I kissed him back.

It was clumsy and imperfect, my breath catching, my laugh slipping into the space between us. He kissed me again, surer this time, warm and careful, and the world narrowed to that single, impossible moment.

From that moment onwards, Sihtric lingered in my mind like a secret pressed beneath the tongue, waiting to be tasted again.

From then on, I saw him daily. Every single time, I could not stop myself from doing the most embarrassing things, but he didn't seem to care. He strangely said that he sees them as sweet, and endearing. Adjectives that no one had used towards me and my ridiculousness, ever.

We decided to keep our... situation a secret. I am unsure what people would think if they found out I was romantically involved with someone like Sihtric. I could possibly lose my job if it became known information.

The secret did not last very long, though. It was one of those nights where I was trapped serving only Uhtred and his men. Finan, in particular, seemed to take it as a personal challenge.

"Careful there." he said as I leaned over to pour ale. "Or I might just have to catch you myself."

I gave a tight-lipped smile and moved quickly, ignoring the heat that always threatened my ears around him.

"Oh, come now," he whispered when I passed by, "you don't want to talk to me? What's your story?"

"I… I’m working," I muttered, keeping my eyes firmly on the table to refrain them from darting in Sihtric's direction.

"You're funny," he said. "Cute, clever…"

I laughed slightly at him- not to entertain his advances, but because the way he was speaking to me was funny. I kept moving, careful not to spill anything, careful not to answer.

By the middle of the night, Finan was leaning over the edge of the table, whispering impossible compliments and impossible questions in my ear.

Sihtric, for once, did not look amused. He was sitting across from me, arms crossed, dark eyes tracking every move I made, jaw tight.

Finally, Finan leaned back and smirked, loud enough that even I could hear him. "I don't understand it," he muttered to Sihtric, just low enough to sound private. "She's clever, beautiful… and yet she won’t even look at me."

I froze.

Sihtric's head snapped up. His glare could have cut iron.

"Perhaps," he said, low, quiet at first… then louder, without thinking, "because she is mine."

I nearly dropped the tray. Finan froze, eyes wide, mouth half-open. Even Uhtred paused mid-bite, eyebrows arched.

I wanted to melt into the floor.

Sihtric’s face went red- not anger, not at me, but at himself.

He leaned back, trying to make it look casual. "I… meant, you know, I… care for her," he muttered, but the words barely reached anyone's ears over the collective pause.

Silence settled like dust.

Uhtred was the first to recover. He looked between us once, then twice, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened.

"Well," he said mildly, lifting his cup again, "that explains a great deal."

Finan barked a laugh, still staring at Sihtric. "You could have told me," he said. "Would have saved me the effort."

I stood there, heat roaring in my ears, heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. Every instinct told me to flee. Instead, my feet stayed rooted, traitorous things.

Sihtric glanced at me then. Just a glance. Apology and resolve tangled together in it.

"I didn't mean to say it like that," he said, more carefully now. "But I meant it." He whispered to me.

The tension eased. The men resumed their noise. Someone laughed. Someone reached for more ale.

I finished serving with shaking hands, painfully aware of the way Sihtric watched me, no longer hiding it, no longer pretending.

When I finally escaped the hall, my breath came out in a rush I hadn't realised I was holding.

He followed moments later.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't plan to say it. It just… came out."

I looked at him, still flushed, still reeling. "You said it like I was a declaration."

His mouth twitched. "It felt like one."

I should have been angry. I should have scolded him.

Instead, I smiled, and reached up, planting a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips.