#( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Stiorra & Sigtryggr ❞. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

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Little Warrior

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdom) x F!Reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault, sexual tension, coercion, corruption kink, talk of religious beliefs, female masturbation, loss of virginity, smut. Word count: 4.6k

Summary: When Sigtryggr and his men seize Winchester he takes a special interest in one of their captives (I have essentially yeeted Stiorra from the story and adapted the storyline of how her and Sigtryggr become an item to suit my own). Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

They come in the night. As Winchester sleeps, the Danes descend upon it.

She is woken by the blood curdling shouts and screams of the townspeople, accompanied by the acrid stench of smoke from nearby burning buildings.

Her heart lurches in her chest, panic causing bile to rise in her throat as she acts purely on instinct, scrambling from her bed and out of the house wearing just her nightdress. The only thought in her mind is that she doesn’t want to die trapped in her home as it’s burned to the ground.

Once she is outside, she watches wide eyed with horror at the destruction around her. Buildings are ablaze, people lay dead and dying upon the ground, the thick coppery scent of blood makes her want to vomit.

It’s only when the coolness of the night air begins to chill her skin that she realises just how perilous her situation is - a thin layer of cotton is all that separates her flesh from the horrors around her. She worries about what these Heathens will do to her if they see her in such a state of undress.

She trembles at the thought, dread gnawing at her insides. It’s too risky to go back inside, her only option is to hide. She takes her chances beneath an overturned farmer’s cart, crawling beneath the gap and cowering, waiting for the chaos around her to die down.

Clutching the cross around her neck, she sends up a silent prayer to God to keep her safe. Her destiny is in his hands now.

The aching in her joints for having been crouched for so long is beginning to become unbearable when the noise eventually quietens. She wonders if the Danes have left, if King Edward will return to rescue Winchester or if they have managed to capture it in his absence. Where are the Wessex guard?

She freezes when she hears the sound of approaching boots upon the ground, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage when they come to a stop in front of the cart she’s hiding under.

“I can see your feet, Christian”, comes the voice of a man. He speaks softly and quietly, and it sends shivers down her spine.

Too paralyzed by fear to do anything, she remains as she is, her breaths coming quick and shallow, a rapidly dying hope in the back of her mind that he might give up and leave her alone. But there is no such luck.

“You will come out,” he commands, “or I will drag you out, the choice is yours.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the frightened whimper that escapes her, attempting to force herself further back against the wooden confines of her misguided hiding place.

A large hand appears beneath the cart, reaching towards her before wrapping itself around her ankle.

She shrieks, thrashing against the hold it has on her as she’s dragged out. She lays wide eyed on the cold earth, her breathing erratic, as she looks with terror upon the Dane that towers above her prone form.

His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, half of it pulled back, and a ragged scar runs the length of the left side of his face. He regards her with mild amusement and she becomes aware again of her state of undress.

The thought that he might rape her sends her senses into overdrive, pure adrenaline driving her decision making. She knows she’s in no position to run, her only other option is to fight him, so as he crouches down towards her, she lunges upwards, slapping and scratching at his face and shoulders.

He is quick to overpower her, pulling her to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.

“A fearsome little warrior, she is,” he chuckles, keeping her arm taut behind her as he gently urges her forward.

He guides her towards the front steps of the King’s estate, where several people are kneeling before a group of Danes. As they draw closer she recognises a few of them; King Edward’s sons and a few of the Wessex guard.

She is certain she’ll be killed. The man presses on her shoulder, urging her to kneel beside the other captives. She takes up her position, the stone step is hard against her knees, and she is all too aware that she is the least valuable of everyone gathered there.

“Send them to where they keep their dead King,” the man says, looking at Edward’s children and then nodding towards the chapel.

“We need to send a message to Edward,” a dark haired, heavily pregnant woman says, as two of the Danish men pick up the boys and carry them off. “We must force him to yield Winchester to us.”

It makes her shudder to think that this woman will be a mother, when she is capable of such atrocities.

“And what do you propose, Brida?” He responds.

Brida regards her with a look that makes her blood run cold. She has never seen anyone look at her as though she is worth less than nothing, her brown eyes are filled with utter contempt. “Send him her head,” she tells him, “it is more shocking to Christians when you are prepared to kill women and children alike.”

She gasps audibly, stricken by terror at the notion that they intend to behead her, until she feels his hand upon her shoulder.

“You will not touch her,” he says cooly, “slaughter the men, but she stays with me.”

“And what will you do with her?” Brida asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That is for me to decide,” he responds dismissively.

He makes a cut throat gesture at the Danes that flank Brida, then nods towards the kneeling guards, before pulling her back to her feet and directing her inside of the King’s estate.

She winces as she hears the sound of blades making thick, wet impact upon flesh, followed by dying screams of agony. Despite her shock and disgust, she cannot help the twinge of relief that lightens the feeling in her chest that that is not what destiny has in store for her, at least not yet.

The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.

As her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings, she’s startled out of her reverie when her gaze settles back upon him. He is standing so close, silently observing her, his expression unreadable.

Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.

“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.

He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”

She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.

Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”

She draws back quickly in disgust - not at his words, but at the reaction they elicit from her. The way warmth pools in her lower belly fills her with immense guilt. This man has invaded her home and killed people she knows, people she loves, she should despise him.

Swallowing thickly, unease prickling at her, she elects to change the subject. “What have you come here for?”

“To take what I am owed,” he says simply.

“And what is it you believe you’re owed?”

“Land. Your people drove me from mine,” he explains, anger lacing his tone, “your boy King will give back what he stole, or I shall keep Winchester and send him the heads of his children.”

She inhales shakily, feeling like she wants to cry. “A-and…how do I factor into all of that?”

He softens, shrugging slightly. “You don’t, but I can’t imagine your King will yield quickly, and it is always nice to have company. You are brave, for a Christian.”

“So I am your prisoner?”

“No, little warrior. You are free to leave any time you’d like, and take your chances with Brida.”

The implication is not lost on her. Her freedom is an illusion when the alternative is death. Sigtryggr is her only guarantee for safety.

“Shall we find something else for you to wear?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

She looks down at the thin material of her shift, seeing how dirty it is from having been crouched beneath the cart, dragged out and then forced to kneel on the steps of the estate. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

He nods. “Wait here.”

Sigtryggr leaves her alone in the study, not bothering to lock the door behind him - a sign of his confidence that he knows she won’t try to escape.

He returns a few moments later with a white cotton shift that is similar to the one she is currently wearing, She assumes it belongs to Ælflæd, something he has found within a bedchamber.

“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.

“What do you mean? It’s the same as what you have on, and it’s clean,” he says simply.

“Yes, but this is meant to go under–” she sighs, “nevermind.”

She takes the shift from him and begins to change, noting the way that he turns from her, keeping his eyes fixed on the shelves of books that line the walls of the room. The small mark of respect makes her smile. She had not anticipated such manners from a Heathen.

He pulls a book from the shelf when she is finished, flipping through its pages. “Can you read?”

She nods and he hands the tome to her.

“Read to me.”

“Can you not read?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I can,” he says with a smirk, “but where’s the fun in that?”

She sighs, settling into the chair in front of the writing desk, while Sigtryggr sits upon the settee a few feet away, and she reads to him.

Over the next few weeks their days are spent much like this. She reads aloud to him, though none of the books are particularly interesting, mostly religious texts and historical records of Wessex. She’s not convinced that he pays any particular attention to the words, but he seems to enjoy the sound of her voice.

They find a Hnefatafl board and Sigtryggr teaches her how to play. They while away hours strategising ways to remove each other's pieces from the board. He has a sharp mind, is calmer and more analytical than any other Dane she’s ever met. He bests her with his cunning multiple times, until she finally begins to get the hang of it and he begins to lose to her.

“Another game?” She asks. “How many have I won now?”

He shoots her a sideways glance, a faint smile upon his lips. “I am not keeping count.”

She giggles. She is beating him, but he does not seem to mind.

They sleep upon furs and blankets that Sigtryggr has brought down to the study and fashioned into a makeshift bed. Her stomach flutters at laying in such close proximity to him, but true to his word he never touches her. Shame blooms hotly in her chest as each of the days pass and she finds herself yearning for it.

He brings her food, and the hopelessness of the situation looms over her as with every meager meal the bread tastes more stale.

“Read to me, little warrior,” he requests, reclining on the settee, his forearm slung over his forehead.

She grouses, hunger pangs causing her stomach to rumble painfully. “I cannot concentrate,” she whispers.

“What is the matter?” He asks, sitting up to look at her.

“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”

He nods, stepping towards her and offering her his share of the bread.

She looks from his outstretched hand to his face uncertainly. “What will you eat?”

“I will manage, and you will read to me,” he tells her, as she takes the offering and he settles back down.

She smiles to herself at the gesture, warmth spreading throughout her. So she eats, and she reads to him.

Sigtryggr disappears each day, leaving her alone in the study. She only leaves to bathe and to relieve herself, but she is perfectly happy to stay put and await his return, especially when she is all too aware of the alternative.

Each day when he returns he brings news of the continuing siege. King Edward and the Wessex guard surround the walls of Winchester, but will not attack as his sons are being kept captive in the chapel. They have yet to yield to Sigtryggr’s demands for land.

She fiddles with the cross around her neck, eyeing the Mjölnir that sits around his carefully. “Can there not be a peaceful resolution?”

"It is more difficult to live peacefully with enemies than to fight them,” he tells her.

“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.

“We are not enemies, little warrior.”

The sentiment makes her heart flutter, though there is the lingering question in the back of her mind; what are we?

He leaves her alone again as usual one morning and she busies herself poring over maps to pass the time.

She turns when she hears footsteps, expecting to see Sigtryggr but instead it is a man she does not recognise. He appears Saxon, so she cannot understand why the Danes have allowed him to move around the estate so freely.

The stench of ale upon him as he draws closer is nauseating. His eyes hold malicious intent as he advances towards her, and her blood runs cold at the sight.

She stands, backing away from him. “Whatever you are planning to do, please reconsider,” she pleads, “Sigtryggr will punish you if anything happens to me.”

“I have allied myself with the Danes,” he slurs, “but at what cost? They treat me like a dog, while Sigtryggr coddles you. Tell me, whore, is your cunt really that good? Perhaps I ought to find out for myself.”

She yelps as he lunges for her, grabbing her and pinning her against the desk. Fury flashes through her as she struggles against him, attempting to free herself from his hold.

“Whatever treatment they give you, you have brought upon yourself, traitor,” she spits.

Her head snaps to the side, a sharp sting spreads across her cheek as he strikes her.

She barely has time to adjust her focus before she feels him forcefully being pulled off of her.

“Eardwulf!” Sigtryggr snarls angrily. “Fucking coward!”

His fist makes impact with Eardwulf’s face knocking him to the ground, before he is dragged away.

She curls up on the furs, shaking as tears stream down her cheeks, waiting for her heart rate to calm. What could have happened to her if Sigtryggr had not returned when he did doesn’t bear thinking about.

She is unsure of how much time has passed when he returns.

“Are you alright?”

She turns towards the sound of his voice, gasping when she sees he’s covered in blood. Rushing towards him, she places her hands upon his face. “You are hurt…”

Softly he grasps her wrists, keeping her hands where they are. “This blood is not mine, and Eardwulf will not hurt you ever again.”

Her lips part in shock at the thought that he has killed for her, saved her life twice now. She studies his face, taking in the stormy blue of his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

She allows her gaze to linger there for just a moment too long, embarrassment making her hot, eager to distract herself. She traces a finger over the scar that runs the length of the left side of his face.

“How did this happen?”

“A man tried to take my eye during battle,” he explains softly, “so I took his life.”

“But you were hurt.”

“Injured, yes. Left with a scar, yes. But very much alive.”

“As am I, thanks to you.”

She drops her hands from his face and he steps away from her, pulling off his blood soaked light armour and clothing.

She feels her throat run dry at the sight of his bare torso, all lean, lithe battle hardened muscle, adorned with scars. She longs to trace her fingers over each of them.

Looking away, she feels ashamed for harbouring such thoughts and desperately tries to ignore the throbbing ache in her core.

As night falls and Sigtryggr lays asleep beside her, the feeling that lingers between her legs has yet to subside. It is maddening, robbing her of rest. Every time she closes her eyes the image of him stood bare chested before her enters her mind.

She has never touched herself before, it is impure to do so, yet she needs relief or she is sure she will go mad.

Sparing a glance in the darkness towards Sigtryggr, she makes sure his eyes are closed before reaching a tentative hand between her legs. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers make impact against the sensitive flesh.

She is not quite sure what she is supposed to do, but finds that a combination of rubbing the area and bucking softly against her hand feels most pleasurable, so continues to do that, holding her free hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes.

There is a feeling that builds within her, a zenith that she feels she must press towards, so she continues in earnest, until finally she feels something within her release and her entire body shudders, a soft moan stifled against her lips as white hot pleasure rolls through her body.

Laying there afterwards she does her best to calm her breaths, feeling guilty for having done something so depraved.

She is startled by Sigtryggr’s voice beside her. “If only you’d beg, little warrior, I could do that for you.”

Her breath hitches and she quickly turns away from him. Not knowing what to say, she feigns sleep, clutching her cross and praying silently that he’ll forget.

She is grateful when he speaks of it no further, and life goes back to normal, or at least what normal is for them.

That is until a couple of weeks later when Brida storms her way into the study, clearly having grown impatient with the lack of progress being made.

“It has been more than thirty days since we captured Winchester, and your negotiations with the Saxon King are not working, Sigtryggr,” she glowers at him, “the time for talking is over. We are killing more captives.”

She does not miss the way that Brida’s eyes linger upon her as she says this, a shiver of fear causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.

“I will choose who we execute, not you,” Sigtryggr tells her.

“You cannot protect this Saxon forever,” Brida retorts.

“Oh, but I can,” he says, placing himself protectively between her and Brida. “She is mine, and I will decide what happens to her.”

Brida scoffs, turning and leaving. Sigtryggr follows, leaving her alone to ponder the fact that he has once more saved her life.

When he comes back several hours later, he looks so tired. The expression he wears is one of defeat and she feels her heart ache for him.

“Read to me,” he says softly, sitting heavily upon the settee.

She regards him quietly, she wants to comfort him. She wants to comfort herself. She has grown weary of denying him.

Before she has time to think about what she’s doing, she crosses the room, and places herself upon his lap, her thighs astride his.

“What are you do–”

His words are cut off as she presses her lips to his eagerly, before pulling away. “I’m begging, Sigtryggr, please. I–”

He surges forward, kissing her again, his mouth possessing hers hungrily as he grasps her hips, lifting her as he stands to deposit her onto the makeshift bed upon the floor, his body caging hers in against the furs.

“I knew you’d give in, little warrior,” he whispers against her neck, kissing his way down her throat to her collarbone.

His fingers toy with the hem of the shift she wears, a silent plea for consent in his eyes as he looks at.

She swallows thickly and nods, nervousness and excitement fluttering ceaselessly in her stomach.

He pulls the garment over her head, throwing it to the side before sitting back on his haunches to admire her.

“Gods…you were worth the wait. So beautiful,” he whispers reverently.

She squirms beneath his gaze, turning her head away at the intimacy of the gesture, feeling shy and uncomfortable.

“Look at me,” he tells her softly. His fingers grasp her jaw, turning her face back to him.

Slowly he undresses, until he is as naked as she is. She feels the familiar ache between her thighs as she drinks in the sight of him, chiseled and battle hardened.

“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.

He reaches for the cross around her neck, toying with it between his fingers, before giving a quick, hard tug, causing the cord to give way. “What we are about to do is no business of your nailed god,” he tells her, tossing it to one side.

He kisses her once more, slower this time, their mouths saving the feel of the other’s against it. Trailing featherlight kisses down her body until he reaches her breasts, he wraps his lips around one of their hardened peaks, sucking gently.

The sensation causes her to moan, a pleasurable sensation shooting through her body, pooling into wet warmth between her legs as she arches against him.

Sigtryggr repeats the motion on the opposite breast, before descending further down, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

She freezes up when he grips her thighs, placing them over his shoulders so that his face is level with her most intimate of parts.

“What…what are you doing?” She asks anxiously.

“I’m going to taste you,” he says matter of factly, making pointed eye contact.

“You cannot do that,” she protests weakly, “it is an unclean thing to do.”

He grins at her, shaking his head slightly. “Christian,” the word leaves his mouth as a half hearted insult, before he presses forward.

The first swipe of his tongue against her folds causes her to gasp, her hands burying themselves in his hair as he uses his grip on her thighs to pull her closer, his tongue moving against her firmer, deeper, faster.

A groan of satisfaction rumbles in his throat, the vibrations causing her insides to clench as she bucks against his face, chasing the edge of oblivion that his tongue is pressing her towards.

He sucks at her pearl, before laving his tongue over it and she cries out as she spasms against his mouth, ecstasy numbing all of her senses as he continues to lap at her.

Once she relaxes, he pulls away, sitting back between her legs, his chin slick with her juices. His fist runs over the length of his cock as he takes in her blissful state and her eyes widen as she sees the size of him.

He is thick, long and slightly curved. She has never looked upon anyone’s manhood before and she trembles as she wonders how it will possibly fit inside of her.

Sensing her trepidation, Sigtryggr caresses her cheek with his palm. “Relax, little warrior, I have prepared you well.”

He presses the head of himself against her entrance and she braces herself, but then he stops. Her eyes flit to his questioningly.

“Beg for it,” he whispers.

She whines, wanting to hide her face in furs that they lay upon.

“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.

“Please,” he pushes forward, aided by her arousal and release, “please,” he pushes forward again, more of her swallowing him up, accompanied by the sensation of stretching and the slightest of stings, “please,” he pushes forward once more, finally sheathed fully inside of her.

She realises as he settles on top of her, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him, that this was merely a means to distract her so that she wouldn’t focus on the possibility of it hurting and grow tense. She smiles, stroking the wild tresses of his dark hair. Always so cunning.

He withdraws his hips slowly, before carefully pushing forward again. He repeats the motion several times, watching her face carefully.

As her breathing quickens, her brow relaxing as her jaw begins to slacken, he increases his pace, hips snapping against hers faster and faster, their kisses frenzied as they pant into each other’s mouths.

She feels him throb inside of her, the sensation pushes her back towards the precipice she’d fallen over earlier, but before she reaches it he is pulling out, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend across her belly.

He wipes her clean with a blanket, discarding it before laying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. A satisfied ache settles within her, she feels she could fall asleep like this, but his voice lulls her back to full consciousness.

“I have released the King’s sons back to him,” he tells her quietly.

“What will happen now?”

“He is sending a warrior named Uhtred into Winchester to negotiate terms, if I accept those terms then my men and I will move on.”

Her heart sinks. She cannot bear the thought of him leaving, not now she knows what it’s like to be in his arms. “Oh,” is all she is able to muster, pressing tighter to him.

They fall into a quiet doze, until he gently squeezes her shoulder. “I must go and speak with Uhtred.”

She watches sadly, quietly, as he dresses. He leans down to kiss her before he leaves and she pushes her lips eagerly to his. If he is to abandon her then she will cling to every last moment until he does.

When Sigtryggr returns later, she is dressed in her shift again, though her cross remains discarded. She is seated by the window, staring listlessly out of it.

He carries a bundle of clothing in his arms and she looks at him curiously.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, deepening her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I have discussed terms with Uhtred and we have reached an agreement. I will leave Winchester, on the condition that you accompany me…not as my prisoner, but as my woman.”

She grins, running into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck.

As they ride away from Winchester, side by side on horseback, she does not feel as though she is leaving her life behind. On the contrary, it has just begun.

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willowbrookesblog · 8 months

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"I'm afraid of you."

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson x Fem!Reader Uthred's daughter and Stiorra's older sister

Notes: This is my first fic about Sigtryggr so if you notice something out of character for him or some spelling mistakes, please tell me :) I'm also lowkey highkey scared to post this because I've never truly written anything to the public 😩 but I know that by practicing my writing will slowly get better as time goes on so please give me some pointers if you want it will be greatly appricated- anywho hope you enjoy~

warnings: talk of childbirth/death but its just one line and doesn't get talked about again.

Y/n sat in silence - head resting on her hands that were interlocked under her chin starring at a book Sigtryggr asked her to read to him blankly, knowing that her sister was okay and that no one would harm her, she wasn't worried about Edward's family as she had a feeling they were going to be used as pawns or something of the sort.

She had already talked to Sigtryggr and had told him everything he had asked for in return for the security that her sister wouldn't be harmed to which he had agreed - she couldn't deny the warmth that spread through her when he had promised that he would not let anyone hurt her or her sister.

In truth, for the past few weeks she had grown quite close with him, Sigtryggr even going as far as to let her see Stiorra herself to make sure she was alright. Sigtryggr managed to figure her out - something most men couldn't do, and that terrified her. She had built walls around herself so that no one could get close to her, she didn't want to lose anyone else and he managed to make his way right into her heart and made her walls crumble to the ground while she stood watching them fall and there was nothing she could do about it.

Sigtryggr silently watched her from the opposite side of the room a small smile playing at his lips as she sighed "What is it?" Y/n turned to look at him "This is so stupid, I'm bored, tired, and hungry, and I'm tired of reading, my brain feels like it's being tortured" Y/n scoffed before pushing the book away and leaning her head on the table.

She heard Sigtryggr chuckle at her and lifted her head "What?" Sigtryggr moved to sit in front of her, handing her some bread, his fingers lightly touching hers as she grabbed it "Well then, you shall take a break. Tell me more about yourself, you said you often thought of your future, tell me about it" He asked her, only for information and totally not just him wanting to learn even more about her or anything "I want to go on a couple adventures, maybe own my own bakery, I refuse to have children so maybe have a cat or two, and then live a quiet and peaceful life," Y/n says as she looked up at him

Sigtryggr smiled at her and tilted his head "No children? why is that?" Sigtryggr asked her curiously and Y/n scoffed at the question not hesitating to answer him "I have no maternal bone in my body, when I hear a child cry I do not feel the need to comfort it instead I pray to the gods that it shuts up, and when a child falls I have no feeling to comfort them in fact i find it rather amusing." Y/n leaned back "Plus i don't want to die giving birth, it scares me" Sigtryggr nodded "that's understandable" it got quiet for a few moments before Sigtryggr got called for by someone and he excused himself, gently touching her shoulder as he went by.

Y/n sat quietly by herself, his touch set her skin on fire and she couldn't help but think of what it would feel like touching all over her body, she quickly shook her head and took a deep breath in trying to calm herself but it didn't do much to calm the heat her body was forming.

-----

About another two weeks had gone by and her body craved him, she wanted him more than anything and that terrified her, she didn't know it was possible to want something so much, didn't help that she would make up so many excuses just to get him to touch her, it was almost pathetic, she felt herself falling for him and she couldn't stop herself.

Similarly Sigtryggr was having the same problem, every time she asked for this or that and he let his touch linger on her, he knew that he was falling for her, but he wasn't upset by finding out he was, he was just worried about what would happen to her.

She sat down at the table back facing the door when he walked in "I'm afraid of you, afraid of the feelings that you make me have. Of how tempting it is to make excuses just to feel your touch on my skin, of lying to myself. I'm afraid of the feelings that consume my entire being when you come around, or when i think of you. I'm scared about how much I feel for you. I can't hide it anymore- I'm tired of hiding it and being afraid of you rejecting me, Of being scared of what I want" Y/n says to him as she stands up turning to face him

Sigtryggr tilts his head to the side and slowly steps forward to stand in front of her, "And what do you want?" His voice is firm but gentle "I want you" she responded almost instantly "I want you so much it scares me" Y/n said again her voice slightly quivering

Sigtryggr looked at her and nodded his head "Then you will have me, I was just about to come and tell you a deal has been made. You will come with me to Eorforwic, I will give you everything you wanted, adventures, your own bakery, cats, and a peaceful, quiet life"

Sigtryggr gently holds onto the sides of her face "If you would be willing to go with me, will you?" he asks looking in her eyes "I would happily go with you, Sigtryggr" Y/n smiles and pulls him closer to her and lays a gentle kiss on his lips.

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Please 🙏 please tell me how it was, did you enjoy it? Any feedback helps and is greatly appreciated <33 Also before I forget Please reblog 😊

@valeskafics @sihtricfedaraaahvicius I'm tagging you both just because I wanna know what you guys think of this <3

#sigtryggr ivarsson x reader #sigtryggr x reader #sigtryggr ivarsson #sigtryggr #willow writes

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alexagirlie · 5 months

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January Omegaverse Challenge 2024

Day 9: Formal Wear (Masterlist) Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred Rating: M Summary: At Stiorra and Sigtryggrs wedding and Sihtric has a surprise for his husbands. Modern au. tags: formal wear. wedding sex. semi public sex. oral sex. interrupted sex. threesome.

Uhtred could barely control himself as he slammed Sihtric against the wall and practically ripped his tailored white shirt open exposing the other Omega's smooth muscular chest to his hungry mouth. He kissed and bit his way down until he could take a perk nipple into his mouth and sucked, hard. Sihtric cupped the back of Uhtred's head and pulled him tighter to his chest making Uhtred groan at the rough treatment and he bit down on the nub in his mouth in retaliation.

Finan crowded against Uhtred's back and ran a soothing hand down his arm. “Don't rip the tux luv. He looks too good in it.” Finan rested his chin on Uhtred's back and took in the appealing image that Sihtric made. His eyes were dark and hazy and his cheeks were flushed pink and alluring.

Uhtred pulled away from Sihtric's chest with a groan. “That's exactly the problem. I want to lick him all over.”

Sihtric tilted his head back against the wall of the storage room they had snuck into, baring the long line of his throat and the matching mating bites he had on either side of his neck.

He had been surprised that his mates had been able to wait as long as they had before pulling him into a dark corner. It was Stiorra's wedding to her mate, an Alpha named Sigtrygrr. Sihtric had wanted to keep the tux he had tailor-made a surprise and so he had waited until it was his and Finans' turn to walk to the front of the hall to make his entrance. Uhtred had been waiting with Stiorra to walk her down the aisle so hadn’t seen it until after taking his own seat but Finan had all but growled when he took in the form fitting black tux Sihtric had on.

He had felt the Alpha’s eyes burning into him as they waited for their que and he had soaked up the attention.

Uhtred's reaction had been just as good, he had stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Sihtric and he had barely been able to behave himself and sit through not only the ceremony but until after dinner was served, and had powered through the first dance as well. He deserved a reward.

As soon as they could get away he grabbed first Finan and then Sihtric and they snuck into the first empty room they could find.

Finan grabbed a handful of Uhtred's hair and pulled the needy Omega’s mouth off their mate. “On your knees luv, suck his cock for me.” Both Omega's groaned at Finan command and he smirked as Ubtred rushed to obey him, getting Sihtric's slacks open and his hard cock out, sinking his mouth over it and taking it all the way into his throat.

Sihtric banged his head against the wall and groaned, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, attempting to muffle how loud he was getting.

Finan tsked and pulled his hand away, instead covering Sihtric's mouth with his own and swallowing down the moan which was ripped from the Omega’s throat. He reached up and cupped the side of Sihtric's face, angling his head so he could kiss him even deeper, his other hand sinking back into Uhtred's hair and feeling the way the other man bobbed his head over Sihtric cock, faster and faster.

Uhtred could tell Sihtric was getting close, his moans were getting louder and one of his hands joined Finan's on the back of his head encouraging him to take the cock in his mouth deeper until the head brushed the back of his throat and he swallowed.

Suddenly there was banging on the door, loud and insistent. “Dad! You better not be fucking in there! It’s time for the cake!”

tags: @gemini-mama

#the last kingdom #january omegaverse challenge 2024 #day 9 #finan #sihtric #uhtred #finan the agile #sihtric kjartansson #uhtred of bebbanburg #finan/sihtric/uhtred #finan x sihtric x uhtred #kirstin's chronicles

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timetravelingpenguin1066 · 1 year

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Of Irland, Chapter 20

Chapter 1 \\ Chapter 19 \\ Series Masterlist

Instead of being taken captive in Winchester, Stiorra leaves for Irland with a friend of her father’s. There she meets Sigtryggr, a Dane, the grandson of Ivar the Boneless.

Chapter 20: Yule Log

Chapter warnings: language, blood eagle, fluff Words: 2000 AO3

“Brother!”

“Go find a whore to play with.” Sigtryggr was not dealing with his brother's shit. Not now, not that day. That night, they would finally set the Yol log alight. It was a time for peace, not shit-brother shit.

“Brother,” Ivar said again, clapping a hand on his shoulder to keep him from turning away.

“What do you want, Ivar?” Sigtryggr sighed. “Have you killed another woman? You want me to clean up your mess again?”

“No, no, nothing like that, no.” Ivar sighed, shaking his head. “It’s all very bad business, but I’m sure you’d understand.”

“Whatever shit you’ve got yourself into, brother, know that I have no interest in helping you.”

“But you see, the thing is, you are the only one who can help me.” Ivar was smirking now. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. “I would think you’d want to since it’s got to do with your little toy.”

“What?”

“The girl.” Sigtryggr growled. ‘Hump thing’ was bad enough. He didn’t need ‘toy’ too.

“I am going to make you a deal. She attends the Blood Eagle.”

“No, she will be looking after our sisters.”

“You are not hearing me, brother.” Ivar’s voice dropped lower. The way it did when he made a threat. “She will attend the Blood Eagle. Or our sisters do. Choose. You have until tonight.”

“And what will you do if I refuse?”

“What do you think I will do?”

Shit.

Ivar would take her to his rooms and do unspeakable things to her. Sigtryggr could not allow that.

“Fine.”

Ivar had already done so many Blood Eagles. It was his favourite method. Especially with Christians. They always screamed. With other Danes, it was less fun for him, as they stayed silent. Ivar would silently pray to the gods to curse the man and make him scream so that he would never go to Valhalla. Sigtryggr did not want to watch it, but he had no choice. Shaking his head, mentally cursing his brother, he stomped upstairs to inform Stiorra that there had been a change of plans.

***

It was still new to Stiorra to have someone dress her. She figured she could probably get into the clothes she’d been gifted for Yol herself. Instead of a dress, she wore a loose embroidered dark blue linen shirt, paired with a linen skirt of the same colour. The shirt had two long threads hanging from the neck, which ended in tassels. The skirt wrapped around her waist. She also wore several petticoats underneath the skirt. Drifa had said the heat from the flames would be too hot for anything, but Stiorra still took precautions.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Aisling asked as she adjusted the skirt.

“Talk about what?”

“You know, him.”

“How is it you know everything?”

“It’s obvious you like him.”

“No, it is not.”

“It is.”

Stiorra gave up.

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?”

Aisling sighed, shaking her head. There really wasn’t much to talk about. Yes, she may be certain she loved Sigtryggr, but there was no way to find out if he felt the same.

“At least he’s letting you miss the sacrifice to look after his sweet little sisters.”

Stiorra laughed. “Gudrid runs rings around me, Aldis chases after her. They may look sweet, but trust me, they are little demons.”

A knock sounded on the door. Aisling hurried to answer it.

It was Sigtryggr, but something was wrong. He seemed annoyed at something, or perhaps angry.

“Stiorra.” He nodded at her. “Aisling.” The maid curtseyed. “May I come in?”

“You may,” she said, her smile fading.

He walked in, head bowed, eyes downcast. Something was troubling him.

He sighed, heavily. “There has been… a change of plans.”

That wasn’t good. He clenched his jaw and continued. “You will attend the Blood Eagle.”

“What?”

“Believe me, it was not my idea.”

Stiorra nodded, understanding. “Ivar.”

“Ivar,” he repeated. “He told me that if you did not go, my sisters would have to, and the he would…” he sighed.

She didn’t need to hear it. “I will come. It’s fine.”

“It is not fine!” Sigtryggr almost yelled.

“You should not have to watch it.”

“And yet I will. To protect your sisters and myself.”

Sigtryggr clenched his fists. “I want to kill him.”

Stiorra smiled. “And then he can go to the deepest blackest pits of Niflheim, and suffer for all eternity.”

At least that one made him smile. “Please, don’t make me laugh about killing my brother.”

Aisling stepped up then. “They’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Sigtryggr nodded. “I have a gift for you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

Stiorra did as instructed. “I thought the time for gifts was tomorrow.”

“You will need this one tonight.”

Something metal fell around her neck.

“Open them,” he whispered in her ear.

Hanging around her neck on a length of leather cord was a…

Thors hammer.

“Now you are a Dane.”

***

The drums beat. The flames seemed to pulse. There was a tension in the air, an excitement.

Stiorra wore her new hammer necklace. She felt like a Dane.

Sigtryggr walked beside her, holding her hand. She couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Blood Eagling was supposedly the most terrible punishment that could be bestowed upon anyone.

There was a tug on her hand, and Sigtryggr led her to one side of the procession.

“I have to go now, and join my brothers,” he said. She nodded.

Then he did something.

He raised his free hand to cup her cheek. He came closer and closer.

This is it.

But it wasn’t.

He kissed her cheek, just a light brush of his lips, the slight tickle of his facial hair.

And then he was gone.

What was that?

Was it some attempt to distract her? Or…

Was he trying to kiss her, but missed?

It was unlikely that Sigtryggr would miss.

Stiorra didn’t even realise she was standing in front of the dias until she almost walked right into it.

Two posts stood nailed to the wooden deck, spread far enough apart to hold a man’s arms. Ivar was standing to one side, sharpening a small axe.

Ivar glanced up as his brother’s stepped up. Sigtryggr held Rognvaldr by the scruff of his neck. He looked drunk, as usual. But then, given the circumstances, who wouldn’t be. The men gathered held mugs of ale and were cheering. When Faloan was finally dragged up in chains, they cheered louder still.

But when Drifa finally stepped onto the stage, the silence was deafening. Drifa had that sort of power, the power to silence all.

“Welcome, friends!” she called out over the many heads. “Welcome!”

A group of men brought in the Yule Log.

“Who’s ready for Yule?” Drifa yelled to the excited and now cheering crowd.

She held her hands up again to silence them. And Ivar stepped forwards.

“The gods demand a sacrifice,” he said. “And a sacrifice we shall give them.��

Stiorra had heard many times over that the Blood Eagle was the worst way to die.

They underestimated it.

However much Stiorra may have hated Faolan for almost killing Sigtryggr, she could hardly bear to watch as Ivar slashed open his back, grinning with glee as the blood splattered on his face and clothes. Watching this, it was easy to understand why so many people preferred Sigtryggr over his brother. Ivar was a sadistic monster, while Sigtryggr was kind.

Stiorra glanced at him. Sigtryggr wasn’t even watching, just staring blankly at the floor with an expression of hate on his face. He must have sensed her watching, as he looked back up at her, apology written all over.

Suddenly the screams stopped, replaced by a squelching and a gurgling. Stiorra whipped her head back to the source. Drifa stood there, having cut Faolan’s throat while Ivar stared in disbelief. The people started muttering.

Stiorra was close enough to hear what was going on.

“What are you doing?” Ivar hissed.

“I don’t know, but the gods are here tonight.”

“You mean to say the gods told you to stop me from pleasing them?”

“Perhaps the gods did not find this pleasing.” With that, Drifa left the stage with a swish of her cloak, walking down the steps at the front. She grabbed a torch and strode over to the Yol log that had been carried in and placed on a stack of twigs.

As she lit it, and the flames roared into life, the people cheered.

Someone started a chant of “Yol.”

Stiorra was almost swept up by the crowd. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back out. As usual, Sigtryggr.

He pulled her out and away from the crowds to somewhere where she could hear him.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “People here tend to get a little rough on Yol.”

“You think that was rough?” she joked. “You should try putting up with Finan and Sihtric getting Osferth in trouble.”

Music started up somewhere and people were beginning to dance.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked.

Rather than answering, Stiorra took his hand and tugged him along.

This Yol was going to be a good one.

***

Some hours later…

Sigtryggr was drunk. He wasn’t usually, but Yol was the time to let things like this slide. It was a time of celebration and memory. Drifa’s story was meant to remind them how easily things can be forgotten, and how easily all that is good and light can be snuffed out.

That wasn’t his reason for being drunk though. On Yol, everyone’s inhibitions were right down. In nine months time, chances are several dozen babies would be born, bastards and all.

Best thing to do in most cases was get drunk. This way, he would not perform. And besides, it was what was best for Stiorra. He was not going to do something stupid, not now. He’d already slipped, kissing her on the cheek. It hadn’t been much, just a brush of lips against her soft, smooth skin. It was getting harder and harder to resist imagining what her lips felt like.

The banging of a mug being slammed down beside him woke him up from his reverie. Sigtryggr groaned. Anlaf, Guðrøðr and Drifa. This was going well.

“So,” Anlaf began, “what are you going to do?”

“About what?” he grunted.

“The girl,” Guðrøðr giggled, drunkenly. “Well?”

“Are you going to hump her?” Anlaf finished.

“Or better yet,” Asgard said, sitting with them, “make sweet, sweet love to her.”

Drifa giggled. Great. She was also drunk.

“Why are you doing this?” Sigtryggr groaned again, putting his head in his hands. He should’ve seen this one coming.

“I would like to make a bet,” Drifa spluttered.

“No.”

“I bet that you will have her before the end of Yol.”

“No.”

“I dare you.”

Sigtryggr glared, once again wondering how in Midgard someone so small could be so annoying.

“Come on, my friend!” said Anlaf. “It is Yol. It is the time to let that upright self-control of yours go to shit. It is them time for Heitstrenging!”

“No!”

“Are you refusing to swear a solemn oath on Yol?” Drifa challenged. “Are you refusing the Heitstrenging?”

Sigtryggr was drunk enough by now to make any Heitstrenging he swore binding.

Now, even when he was drunk, Sigtryggr typically still had his usual ‘upright self- control,’ as his friend so rightly put it. But then like Anlaf said, Yol was the time to let all that go to shit.

He took a long drink of his ale, then slammed the cup in the table. He wrapped his hands around the Thor’s Hammer pendant hanging from his neck. “I swear to you she will be mine before Yol’s end.”

The four gathered cheered and clapped. “There we go,” Drifa said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

#the last kingdom #tlk fics #sigtryggr #stiorra

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ulfrsmal · 1 year

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5 & 19, please

Hello there, thank you for asking! :D General reminder that the first link only works when logged-on to ao3!

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Steeler (Sigtryggr/Stiorra/Wolland) got way more popular than I expected from the almost-crackship OT3, but I love it! It was a pleasure to write them, Wolland especially was a sweetheart 😊

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Mmm leaving aside all ships I've already written for, I really want to get back to the uncountable WIPs I have sitting on a folder... That's next year's goal honestly.

Aside from that, I REALLY want to write Aodhan/Illium (Guild Hunter book series) because I've loved them for YEARS and they recently became the series' first canon gay couple!! And. Honestly. They're angels with a telepathic bond and Aodhan has been damaged so badly that he only accepts Illium's touch and they're childhood friends and coworkers and the pining and aaahhhh I love them :')

#naps4bats #thank you for asking!#also yes I can ramble about the guild hunter series for days lmao

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ladybebbanburg · 2 years

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send 🛑 to clean blood off of my muse after they protected yours. add + to reverse so receiver is the one cleaning blood off sender with Stiorra & Sigtryggr feat @siihtric

⌜— “¡Te dije que yo podía sola, Sigtryggr!” gritó regañando, la forma en que la había defendido le había sentirse que realmente creía que no podría y sin embargo, la había salvado. Tomó aquel paño humado para comenzar a limpiar la sangre. ⸥

#( ╳┊❝ Int: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir ❞. )#( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Stiorra & Sigtryggr ❞. )#ooc: me pongo nerviosa skdhsd xd #siihtric #ooc: que esta pasando aquí? skdhsd

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uhtredxbebbanburg · 2 years

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Stiorra & Sigtryggr profesor AU feat @siihtric

Stiorra se encontraba aburrida girando los ojos, sus dos hermanos estaban tranquilos pero ella sentía que se iba a morir en ese lugar hasta que alguien la jalo del brazo y para su sorpresa era Sigtryggr, había salido un par de veces con él aunque jamás había sido algo serio pero en ese instante, con tal de que la sacará de esa fiesta iría a la luna con él. “Hola, guapo” susurró, con una sonrisa mientras se acercaba terminando por unir sus labios contra los ajenos. Al final Stiorra accedió a salir con él de esa fiesta, solo le aviso a Osbert sobre que se iría con él pero que la cubriera. Stiorra salió y se subió a su auto antes de que se fuera de esa fiesta. “¿A dónde vamos?” preguntó, sin estar segura de que tanto misterio traía entre manos.

#( ╳┊❝ Int: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir ❞. )#( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Stiorra & Sigtryggr ❞. )#ooc: yo digo que él quiere que ya sean pareja :P pero la otra es difícil de domar xd igual que el padre

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danelionsheart · 2 years

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Destiny wants us to continue this @ofwessex

She was happy, as she had never imagined. Newly married to the man she loved, everything seemed to be going well. Did she really think she would ever feel that way about anyone? Of course not, he was the man she loved, he simply caused her heart to race at every fact, every sensation present but most of all she was happy. "It's already our home, my husband" it was strange to say but he liked it, the sensation simply caused him to smile broadly and laughter filled the place as he lifted her up and turned her around, her nose brushing against his until at last their lips met. "I love you too much" she whispered before pressing her lips together against his once more.

#( ╳┊❝ Int: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir ❞. )#( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Stiorra & Sigtryggr ❞. )#ofwessex #( ╳┊❝ Queue: Destiny wants you to wait ❞. )

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kjartaansson · 2 years

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La fiesta es otro nivel desde la cabina de música, aislado y dándole vida a la pista desde el comienzo de la noche. No obstante, es un sitio que eligió con anticipación. De vez en cuando su compañero, uno que sabe muy bien de música, trae bebidas para no perderse de todo, se turnan para mezclar las canciones y lo hacen menos aburrido. También reciben a unos cuantos estudiantes con ideas para alternar la música. Cuando está a punto de tomarse un descanso y dirigirse a la pista de baile, se sorprende con la presencia de Stiorra en lo alto de aquel lugar. Viene a pedir una canción, es lo primero que piensa, aunque también tintinea un brillo de curiosidad. “¿Vienes a exigirme que pase tu canción favorita? ” muerde su labio inferior, esperando respuesta femenina. @lordbebbanburg

#.* ❪ sigtryggr ivarsson ❫ ﹕ interactions .#.* ❪ pairing: sigtryggr & stiorra ❫ *.#grupo 2.#uy :$$ yo los quiero ver en acción #sigtryggr bebió y está con menos juicio

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lerelene · 2 years

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Sigtryggr is such an amazing husband I just… it’s not that there was a huge amount of screen time given to their relationship with Stiorra but the overall vibe that he gives off is so calm, confident, reassuring, respectful and adoring towards his wife. I love that pairing with all my heart, I think it is one of the most beautiful relationships in any period series

#sigtryggr #stiorra #the last kingdom

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

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ANGE MY BELOVED!!! can i request corruption kink with sigtryggr and a saxon/christian reader (gonna put on my whitesona when i read this) 🤭

Here is a snippet for you, Babybel! Full fic coming tomorrow.

Little Warrior

Snippet below the cut!

The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.

Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.

“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.

He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”

She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.

Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”

#asked and answered #babybel my beloved #sigtryggr #sigtryggr x reader #sigtryggr ivarsson #the last kingdom

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fefe-marty · 2 years

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There are ships in TLK i like, ships that I like more but I am not madly in love with, ships i don't care about, ships i find cute or i understand why others ship that but I prefer other pairs and then there is a pair that simply has non-sense at all, a big "no ship coming from nowhere, unconfortable even to be thought" and I think someone just "ship" because they "disprect/dislike" the half character of the main canon ship the majority ship and I am talking about Holland/Stiorra. I mean, are you serious? Why don't ship Holland and Sigtryggr then or Stiorra and Ella? there is simply no reasonable logic reason here to stan the pair and for sure not the "he is hot" and "love how looks at her" thing I have read somewhere. For real guys? Oookkk!!!! Keep shipping them than but I am pretty sure Holland has never looked Stiorra like her Husband does . Anyway, just a personal consideration

Gifs of @destinyisall-tlk

#eysteinn sigurðarson #sigtryggr #stiorra #the last kingdom #ruby hartley #stiorra x sigtryggr #thelastkindom5 #tlk season 5

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solinarimoon · 3 years

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Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 15

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: Well loves, this is the final chapter for this story. Depending on how season 5 of the show goes, I may do more and I may do one-shots for Cwen and Sihtric later too. I am honestly incredibly proud of myself for finishing my very first multi-chapter story. And I am beyond thankful for each and every one of you who thought it was worth your time to read. Thank you! From the bottom of my Dane loving heart. I have more stories planned featuring our favorite cinnamon role Dane and some new OCs so be on the lookout! The moodboards provided by the lovely @serasvictoria

Warnings: Smut. Smut with feelings. (So this also counts as my outdoors entry for @tlkfanficfest bingo axe card)

Word Count: 3877

Fields of Wildflowers Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hild found Cwen some old novice robes that fit comfortably enough. The abbess then cleaned Cwen’s face and put a soothing poultice on some of the deeper scrapes and bruises before sending her off to bed.

The room was plain, holding only a bed and a small table. And there was a lingering aroma of some floral fragrance Cwen couldn’t place. She laid down and was asleep within a matter of minutes.

When she awoke, it was with a start to find an arm weightily draped across her waist.

Turning from her side to lay on her back, Cwen saw Sihtric dozing soundly next to her.

He had found a moment to clean the grime and gore from his face and body, she noticed as she took in his features. His armor and tunic lay discarded by the door to the room and Cwen took a moment to take in his resting form. The line of his jaw and the length of his neck. His shoulder, rounded and firm, with long muscles leading along the arm hooked around her waist. She felt the heat radiating off his bare chest.

In his sleep, the warrior’s face was relaxed and his breathing even and shallow. His mouth hung slightly open, a quiet snore escaping him every few breaths.

Cwen raised a hand to brush the hair from his forehead and trace the lines along his brow.

She smiled when she felt him stir under her touch. Without opening his eyes, he reached a hand up to grasp her own and bring her palm to his lips.

“I am glad you took my advice and rested,” he hummed against her palm before pulling her body closer into his embrace.

“Is there peace?” she questioned after nuzzling against his neck and trailing her fingers along his collarbone.

“For now, it seems.”

“Tell me.” Cwen asked, sleep still clouding her voice.

Sihtric rolled onto his back, sliding his arm to rest under Cwen’s neck as she nestled into his side.

“They’ve given Sigtryggr Eofiwich. And he promises to remain peaceful and in alliance with Wessex and Mercia.” Sihtric paused, running his fingers gently through Cwen’s long hair. Hild had also spent time using a brush and comb to work through the knots and tangles that had accumulated during the siege.

“That can’t be all though,” Cwen asked while turning her face up to meet his, “What about Stiorra?”

Cwen felt as a rumble passed through Sihtric’s chest as he laughed.

“And what about Stiorra?”

Cwen propped herself up on to her arm, her mirthful smile mirroring his.

“Is she part of the bargain?”

“Why would she be?” Sihtric’s eyes glittered mischievously.

“Because they have fallen for one another. Stiorra and Sigtryggr.” Cwen’s words were sure and matter of fact.

Sihtric moved to place a strand of hair that had fallen across Cwen’s face before he asked, “Now what would make you say that?”

Sighing, Cwen laid herself back down and nestled into his side. Her fingers absent-mindedly finding the hammer amulet draped across his chest. Tracing the intricate designs.

“Well I don’t know exactly. I have never even seen them in the same room together,” and her words were interrupted by a scoff from Sihtric. She hushed him playfully before continuing, “but it is in the way they speak about each other. As if he truly sees her. And she, him.”

Here she paused, her hand stopping it’s fidgeting with the hammer. She took a breath then continued, vulnerability lacing her words, “It is not much different from the way I believe you see me. From the way you have watched me and seen me since the fields of Saltwich. You see me and know me. The true me. And that is love. To have someone see through you to your soul. Or your spirit, your essence. Whatever term you wish to give it. When a person can see your rough edges, the parts that are broken, the fragile things…” her fingers began fiddling with the pendant once more, nervous as she continued, “a person who can see that in another and appreciate it, accept it. That is love. That is what will help someone to heal. Find peace. Happiness. I see who you are and you see me for who I am. I see that mirrored in the way Stiorra and Sigtryggr speak about one another.”

Cwen’s voice got quieter as she stopped her rambling. Her fingers continued to place their anxious energy into toying with the necklace until she felt his strong hand wrap around her own, stopping her movements. He moved to place his knuckles below her chin, tilting her head up so he could catch her eyes.

“What have I done in my life to deserve you, my lady?”

Now it was Cwen’s turn to scoff at his use of the term lady once more before he continued, interrupting her.

“It is true. I have been blessed by the gods and I do not know why. I am nothing but a bastard son who has killed more men than I can count. Many who were probably good men.”

Cwen stared into his face as he spoke. She watched as his brows stitched together and the line of his jaw flexed. His eyes growing distant and clouded.

“Then you do not see what I see, Sihtric.” Her hand rose from his chest to caress his neck, fingers smoothing themselves through the curls of his hair, coaxing his eyes back from whatever unfocused horrors he was imagining, back to her.

“You are a man, devoted and loyal. I see your heart. A heart that is fierce and passionate, but also kind and warm. It is gentle when time or place calls for it. I see that in how you are with the children and with me. You have shown me time and time over that the quality of your heart is pure. It is all those things that make who you are. A warrior. A heathen but not a barbarian as some Christians would paint you. These are the reasons you follow Lord Uhtred. These are the reasons you fight. And they are good qualities.”

Cwen watched while he listened to her words. The lines of his face eased and the whites of his eyes glistened more brightly. The lovers brought their lips together, the language of a whispered kiss speaking more deeply than either could with words.

A subtle cough from the doorway broke them apart.

Hild stood, a kind smirk on her face.

“I would remind you that you are still in a church, Sihtric. And even though you are heathen I will have you respect this home of my God.”

Cwen rolled over, burying her face in her hands and stifling anxious giggles while she heard Sihtric apologize and then the rustle of Hild’s robes as she moved away from the door.

But Hild called over her shoulder to them before she had made it out of earshot, “Uhtred is looking for you. King Edward has spoken with him.”

“Tell my lord I am on my way.”

They heard Hild laugh before she replied, “He wishes to speak with Cwen.”

The pair glanced at each other, confusion on both of their faces. Slowly, they moved to sit up and make ready themselves.

“But Sihtric, you haven’t answered me!” Cwen exclaimed.

When he looked askance at her as he did the laces up on his tunic, she continued, “Stiorra? Is she leaving for Eofowich?”

Sihtric smirks without raising his eyes again to meet hers, instead focusing on his lacing.

“Well?” Cwen moved to help him secure the armour and interrupt his avoidance.

“She will be going as a hostage,” he replied. But the mirth behind his eyes showed his agreement with her notion that it was not a hostage arrangement.

“Lord Uhtred must be furious,” Cwen mused.

“He was quite, yes.”

Sihtric turned to grab his bracers off the floor and Cwen took them from him, sliding them onto each of his forearms in turn.

“So what does he need with me, I wonder?”

Sihtric shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as they walked out of the door to find Uhtred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The king has charged me with the care of Aethelstan.”

Uhtred and Cwen were standing underneath the arches leading to the inner courtyard of the church.

Hild was walking with Eadith to stretch and warm some of her muscles, while an anxious Finan looked on. He was clearly only half listening to whatever Osfeth and Sihtric were discussing. It made Cwen smile, before turning her attention back to Uhtred.

“With care for Aethelstan? But Lady Aelswith had been planning to do that?”

Uhtred sighed, “Plans have changed. Apparently Lady Aelswith is in poor health after the siege. And Edward wants Aethelstan removed from Winchester. It will be safer for the boy.”

“Aelswith offered me a place in her household caring for him before we left Mercia. I turned her down but not because I don’t want to help Aethelstan. Did you wish to speak with me to ask for my help?”

Uhtred chuckled dryly and looked down at his boots, scuffing the dusty dirt.

“It is no secret, I am…,” he trailed off before clearing his throat and starting again, “I will be able to teach him the shield wall and battle tactics. And other life lessons but I am lacking in many skills when it comes to raising a child. I would ask you for help, yes.”

“And you will have it.” Cwen smiled, her words sincere and happy.

It was at that moment that Sihtric approached, wrapping his arm around Cwen’s waist and drawing her close to him as she leaned back into his embrace.

“You have chosen a good woman, Sihtric.” Uhtred clapped his friend on his shoulder.

“I have, indeed,” Sihtric paused, pressing a kiss against Cwen’s hairline making her grin despite herself.

“But may I have a word alone, Lord?”

Cwen glanced between the two men before excusing herself to go check in on Eadith and Hild.

After joining the two women, Cwen continued to glance back to where Sihtric stood speaking with Uhtred. The two men stood close together while Sihtric spoke, but his words did not travel and Cwen did not know what they discussed.

After only a few moments, she saw Uhtred embrace Sihtric and the two clapped each other on the back before breaking apart and Sihtric turned to walk to Finan and Osferth, who were standing in the path that Hild was guiding them along. Sihtric beamed at her as they approached, his smile filled with adoration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After eating a light lunch with everyone, Sihtric excused himself and asked Cwen to join him. He led her to the edge of Winchester and outside the walls. The Saxon camp of King Edward was still scattered across the surrounding field, but the couple walked beyond the scattered tents and cookfires. Here and there, men were mulling about, collecting their things, preparing to return to their homes.

“Where are you taking me, Sihtric,” Cwen looped her arm through his and leaned herself against him as they strolled.

She smiled when she felt his breath on her ear as he leaned close, “Do you remember the last time you asked me that question?”

His voice was low, husky.

The implication sent shivers along Cwen’s spine. Just as it had while riding in the fields outside of Aegelesburg, she felt her body stir.

They stayed quiet as they walked, both feeling the rising thrill in their energy.

Cwen tried to keep her breathing steady while her heart began beating steadily faster and faster. The feel of Sihtric’s movements against her as they walked gave her shivers, every place where his skin brushed hers leaving trails of gooseflesh.

Eventually, they moved off of the main road and began to cross onto hunting trails, through woods and fields. It may have been along the route they had come to Winchester. That seemed ages ago and had been in such haste, Cwen thought she would have no idea if she had been through this way before. And there was no way she could focus clearly on her surroundings with the anticipation of being with Sihtric again.

Finally, he stopped walking and Cwen took in their surroundings.

They were at the edge of a low lying glen, leading up to a small hill crested with trees. The glen was carpeted with tiny white and violet-blue flowers, all migling together. Cwen breathed deep, enjoying the musty aroma of the woods to their backs, earthy and solid. She tried to slow her pounding heart.

“I told you I wished to cherish you, Cwen,” Sihtric pulled her body flush against his before cupping her face, “and I mean to do just that.”

His lips ghosted across hers before he moved to nip underneath her ear, his tongue languidly tasting her skin in between gentle kisses down her neck.

“Sihtric,” she moaned out his name, her hands grasping hungrily at his hips and pulling him even closer to her.

“I will never grow tired of hearing you moan my name,” he whispered against her collarbone.

His fingers found their way up from her waist to begin undoing the laces at her collar, before moving the fabric apart to reveal the skin of her chest.

Despite the heat of the late summer, his fingers left goosebumps dancing along the trails they made, slowly fanning their way over to caress one of her breasts.

Cwen sighed as his kisses continued along her neck and his fingers lightly pinched at her erect nipple.

She could feel the swell in his trousers bulging against her hips and longed for more.

Slowly, she reached her hand down from his hip to cup along his length.

The groan her movements brought forth from him flushed Cwen with a sense of pride that she could cause him to make such noises.

“Mmmm, woman,” he growled, “I planned to be making these noises come from you,” but Cwen interrupted him.

“And what if I wish to show you how I cherish you too?”

Sihtric leaned back on his heels to stare at Cwen. Her shy smile and mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

In an instant, his mouth was on hers. All sense of calm replaced by fire.

Both sets of fingers fought to undo the buckles and ties holding cloth against skin.

All the pain, all the terror over the past weeks. Separated by barriers and words. All of the emotions of the heart came crashing out against each other.

Swiftly, Cwen slid her dress down from her shoulders to pool at her feet, leaving her chest bare and only a thin underskirt draped off of her curving hips.

Sihtric, breathing heavily, stood back to admire her form, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist up to the slope of her breasts.

While his hands roamed her body, Cwen undid the lacing holding his bracers and leathers on, removing them deftly.

Smoothly, he lifted his arms and pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it in the grass by their feet, only to then drop to his knees, peppering kisses along her abdomen while his hands reached behind her to grasp and gently knead her bottom.

Cwen sucked in a breath as the feel of heat pooled deep in her core, mingled with a throbbing pull at her opening. She wanted to feel him touch her there.

She ran her fingers along his head, nails scratching along his scalp, before he tilted his face up to hers to see the passion burning in her eyes.

“Come here, Cwen.” His voice was deep and sensual, causing another thrill to ripple through her swollen womanhood.

She slid her body down to meet him, feeling his lips trailing up now, to find her nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue against the hard nub. His hands bunched at her skirt, pulling it up around her as she lowered herself.

Once she was on her knees, he brought his face to hers, kissing her lips once more while growling, “Lay back for me.”

Cwen lowered herself back, while Sihtric’s body, hard and strong, loomed over her, sheltering her, enveloping her.

Again, he brought his lips to her skin, licking and sucking gently at the dips and shallows of her neck and shoulders.

She shuddered when his hands left the skirt, now rumpled around her waist to trail down her hip. He had slowed their pace once more, gradually bringing his fingers to rub against her swollen center. Slow, short strokes followed by an even slower long stroke circling the moist opening of her slit.

She moaned and arched under his hands, yearning for more but relishing the feel of his hands on her.

Slowly, his kisses moved lower, back to her nipple, drawing circles around it before he continued even lower.

Cwen opened her eyes, when he sat up, removing his hand from her wetness.

Sihtric leaned back on his knees and shifted Cwen’s hips as she watched him eye her hungrily.

He began to lean down to her, his breath hot and heavy on her aching core.

“Sihtric, what are you,” but her words were replaced with a rasping moan as she felt his tongue on her. He trailed his tongue up from the dripping moisture of her slit to press and flick against the nub of her sex making her gasp outloud.

Sihtric looked up to meet her eye, now sucking at the nerves before he answered, “I am cherishing my woman, every part of her.” And he then moved back to lap at her with the flat of his tongue.

Licking her lips, Cwen felt as her hips unconsciously rose to meet his actions, continuing the slow rhythm his fingers had started. Slow and small strokes followed by a longer stroke, the pressure always building then pulling back as he pulled her to the edge.

When he brought his fingers to her opening and slowly pushed one then another inside, Cwen felt herself arch and moan his name.

Her fingers found themselves raking through his hair as he moved his fingers inside her, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

Cwen felt herself rising to the edge, “Sihtric,” she groaned while his actions became faster, matching the pumping of her hips rising to meet him.

And she came undone, her legs tensing and squeezing as he brought her to her high.

When she opened her eyes, he had moved his face to stare at her, but was continuing the motions of his fingers, still feeling her clench around him.

“You are the most beautiful woman,” he whispered, his voice deep with lust.

“Can you take me?”

Noiselessly, Cwen nodded, holding her arms out for him to come to her.

He moved, lithe as a cat, to bring his face to hers, kissing her passionately. She could taste herself on his lips and feel her own moisture in his beard.

Cwen slipped her fingers between his pants and his hips and slid them down with his help to release his bulge. He rolled off of her just long enough to slide his trousers off completely, before he was on her once more, his manhood hard and ready for her.

Guiding himself to her entrance, Cwen shifted her hips to better meet him.

As he pushed himself inside her, she met his eyes. He filled her completely, pushing into the hilt before he paused to kiss her. Then slowly again, their bodys began rocking together in a rhythm building steadily. Her small moans and noises driving him to push harder.

He built her up once more, feeling her body tensing beneath him ready to crash in ecstasy. Cwen cried out his name once more when he pushed her over the edge, feeling her walls clench him tight driving his own climax to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They lay in the grass, a tangle of limbs as their breathing returned to normal. Cwen found her hand in Sihtric’s as he toyed with her fingers, weaving them together with his. He brought her hand up to place a gentle kiss on her thumb.

“Be my wife, Cwen.”

Surprised, Cwen turned her face to watch him. He was focused on their fingers, still lacing them gently together.

He continued after a moment's pause, “I want you for my woman. My wife. From now until the end of days. I told you that all of my roads will lead me to you, Cwen. And I meant it. You are warm and kind. You are brave. And you make me happy. Happier than any warrior deserves to be.

His words were strong. Sure.

Cwen felt her eyes prickle as tears formed, blurring her vision. She blinked to clear them away as she saw Sihtric’s head turn to look at her.

“Will you be my wife, Cwen?”

Smiling, Cwen nodded her head furiously, “Yes, Sihtric, I will be your wife.”

Grinning, Sihtric rolled Cwen on top of him and kissed her, deeply before he pulled away.

Still smiling, he laughed, “Then I have something I need to give to you.”

Cwen moved herself off of him as he reached into his pants, reaching into a small pocket, hidden in the waist.

He pulled out a tiny pouch. He emptied the pouch into his palm. It contained a small golden ring. Simple and delicate, with just a few markings and designs along the band.

“This belonged to my mother. It is the only possession I have from her. Before my father,” he glanced at Cwen before he continued, “before he killed her, she gave this to me. She knew he would find out about what she had been doing to help the children of Dunhilm. And she wanted for me to have this. She has been the only woman to ever hold my heart. Until now. And I want you to have it.”

Cwen was speechless as he placed it in her palm, before closing her fingers over it and kissing her hand.

The tears she had been able to stem before, now ran freely along her cheeks. Gingerly, she opened her hand and picked up the ring. She slid it onto her finger and it fit perfectly.

“She would have loved you,” Sihtric added, wrapping his arms around Cwen and resting his forehead against hers.

“Thank you, Sihtric. I will treasure it and hope to honor her by wearing it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they were getting dressed and beginning their walk back towards Winchester, Cwen gasped.

“Wait, won’t we need Uhtred’s approval to marry? When will you ask him?” Laughing, Sihtric took her hand, “I have already asked him, love. It is what I wished to speak with him about this morning.”

“Oh you planned all of this then?”

“I did”

“Oh you are quite the romantic, my soon-to-be husband.”

Sihtric chuckled once more along with Cwen, “I guess I am.”

As they continued walking, Cwen asked, “So what did Uhtred say when you asked him?” “He said that I would be a fool not to marry you.”

Sihtric pulled her close, kissing her temple as they walked, “And he is right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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