—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 —
ʟᴇꜱꜱᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴛʏ
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ — ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

UHTRED'S STEPS WERE
laced with something anguish and bitter as he stormed through the palace corridors of Wessex. His heels echoing, tunneling endlessly against the stretch of walls each time his foot slapped the cold, hard ground.

Freyja trailed closely behind him, her spiral of emotions a little more composed but still, a glare rested almost permanently on her face. Her lips were pressed thinly, boarding a frown as she ignored Beoccas heeds in attempting to slow them down.

They were well aware that Alfred was in the church for prayers. They were well aware of the policy against weapons set in place — but neither of them seemed to care as the marched towards the doors of the chapel.

"Will you get your brother to listen for once?" Beocca snapped with an unusually sharp tone as he followed quickly behind the two Danes, his eyes glaring over the younger, more feminine of the two.

Freyja scoffed a sneer if her lips and passed hints of a glare across her shoulder. "I'm not his mother." She gave a half excuse, facing her attention ahead as they turned the corner.

Once the doors of the church came into view, Beocca panicked, his voice grower louder as he shouted with plead. "Uhtred. Uhtred, your sword."

The doors crashed open with an unforgiving bang as they slammed and all noise of the room fell deathly silent. Various pairs of eyes scattered in their direction.

Alfred slowly rose to his feet, his glaring eyes already fixed on Uhtred who shifted with unease beneath the multiple gazes set on not him and his sister.

The rest of the room stood along with the king and Freyja easily found Leofric's towering figure amongst them, his eyes filled with disappointment as he stared at her.

Uhtred swallowed thickly, his palm resting over his chest. "Forgive me, but I am told you believe me dead?"

Beocca bowed his head to the ground, feeling multiple emotions at once — embarrassment, guilt, disappointment. Time and time again he had attempted to help Uhtred, to teach him — but the result seemed to mirror eachother each and every time.

"Uhtred this is not the time."

Uhtred wasn't hearing it, he wasn't reading the room like Freyja was, he wasn't keeping silent. He cut the priest off, barely allowing him time to finish before he gesturing widely to the elderly man. "Father Beocca here believed me dead and yet just days ago I was at cynuit with lord Odda. I was lord Odda and I who devised our battle plan." His anger steps thundered the room as he approached this king, pointing a stern finger on young Odda's direction. "Did the boy not say?"

Realisation dawn on Alfred who began to fit the missing pieces together like an unsolved puzzle. He glanced towards young Odda with a disappointing glance, jaw sealed firmly shut.

Freyja carefully moved behind her brother, trailing behind him like a dog on a leash, loyal in the very bones she barred. She believed that there were better ways to confront the king, ways that brought much less attention — he would earn nothing this way, no treasures, no reward, no respect on the king's behalf with how he behaved.

But still, despite her better judgement, she followed her brother like a loyal soldier, chin held high, eyes fixed into a stern, unwavering glare, hand folded behind her back.

Beoccas voice trailed urgently behind the two. "Uhtred, stop now."

Uhtred took another step closer. "Perhaps you'd like to speak now?"

Lady Aelswith leaned towards young Odda, and despite fixing her voice into a whisper, the words seemed to echo across the silent room. "Odda, you will say nothing."

Uhtred's face soured and hos voice deepened in anger. "Perhaps you would like to describe Ubba's death?"

Freyja reached out, ignoring the piercing of Leofric's gaze she refused to meet. Her fingers wrapped around Uhtred's elbow, somewhat tugging him back to the best of her ability. She was at a conflict, to allow Uhtred to feel his deserved anger and in result, lose more than just respect amongst the Saxons — or to pull him away as if his feelings didn't matter.

In the end, the Saxons needed to know the truth, that someone they possibly looked up to was a liar — even if that meant that the both of them would in the end suffer.

Over he sound of Uhtred's anger words, Beoccas voice boomed across the room, falling upon the king's listening ears. "Lord, I would like to invite the aelderman here to join us, in giving thanks and prayer."

Uhtred turned, ripping his arm from Freyja's gentle grip and glared over the priest he'd known as a child. "Giving thanks for what, for victory? For the death of the pagan? Who do you think killed the pagan?"

"I cannot save you." Beocca shook his head solemnly.

"Uhtred." Freyja calmly called his name, masking her face in front of the others but the look in her eyes was something her brother should have been able to read. It was a look of warning, one that silently told him to be careful of his actions, of what words he chose to speak, of his anger.

Uhtred ignored them both, facing the king once more. "I fought Ubba, man-on-man and I killed him. It was his axe against my sword. This sword." Reaching back, his hands grasped tightly to the weapons handle strapped to his back.

Steel sliced the air with a sharp screech, people flinched, grasps of shock and fear escaping the parting of their lips, Freyja closed her eyes for a brief moment to shake her head as several nearby guards readied their spears, circling around the two of them, trapping them with the sharp points.

"Is there any man here who will deny it?"

Freyja's chin was forced upwards as the sharp point of a spear was held inches from her neck. She glared at the guard, jaw clenching tight, hands curling into fists with the urge to reach for her own weapon.

But she didn't, as it would only worsen the situation.

Alfred looked across the room. "Be still. Everyone be still and be silent." He folded his hands in front of him, taking cautioned steps towards the siblings. Although he was well aware that Freyja was innocent in this situation, it was her loyalty to Uhtred that would become her greatest downfall. "I have heard enough. You have said enough. This is not seemly — now sheath your sword and remember where you stand."

Uhtred's face fell in disbelief. "Lord, what I'm saying to you —" he was cut off as he stepped forward, Wulfhere holding him back and Leofric snatching the sword from his grip.

The look Leofric earned in return was one he wouldn't forget. It was clear to him that Freyja believed he had in a way betrayed her, offended her in some way solely because of his loyalty to Alfred.

It made him realise how much they were the same, both loyal to the bone, willing to put aside their own needs, their own wants, just to serve someone selfish enough to take it.

Alfred sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes dancing back and forth from Uhtred to Freyja, over and over until his glare managed to push his intention across. "You have broken my peace. You have broken the peace of christ and you have brought weapons into a sacred place."

Uhtred risked stepping closer to the king. "Lord, I'm telling you the truth —"

"You will go directly to the courtyard and you will wait for me to pass judgement."

"Judgement?" Uhtred chuffed, any signs of amusement lacking in his expression. "For what? I have done nothing —"

Alfred raised his voice, the sound of it thundering across the church. "You will be quiet."

Uhtred lowered his hands to his sides, palms slapping his thighs. He scoffed, glaring one last time at the king before he spun around and pushed his way past the guards, his boots a lingering thump as he made a beeline for the exit.

Freyja was left standing in his silence, feeling all eyes on her when she turned to trail after her brother. It was the call of her name that made her stay push.

"Freyja." He called her name, softly, calmly, with hints of anger still lurking at the edges as if it took his greatest strength to not be angry with her. Alfred's eyes sunk into hers, refusing to look away as he spoke. "It is you I am most disappointed in. Uhtred is your brother, you will do well to control him when the matter is needed — but you did not. You allowed him to walk in here with weapons just like you yourself have."

"Lord." Leofric attempted to speak, a frown lacing his lips, a knot forming between his brows. He was confused by the king's words as it was obvious to everyone that Freyja was innocent in this matter — but Alfred was allowing his feelings to cloud his judgement, something that only Leofric seemed to take notice of.

"Silence, Leofric." The king didn't so much as look away as he held up his palm, forcing the loyal soldier to remain quiet.

Freyja didn't speak, didn't so much as even blink as she looked into the king's eyes with everything bitter. She contemplated for a moment before she spoke. "I will say again — I am not Uhtred's mother. I am not his wife. Controlling him is not my intention and you will do well to remember that."

Without another moment to waste, she turned and left without leaving room for Alfred to argue back. She pushed passed the guards, her shoulder shoving past Beocca as she exited the room.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THERE WAS A TENSION
that resided within the air of the courtyard, as if a large invisible wall had been built straight down the centre leaving a shattering distance between Uhtred and Mildrith.

There was no hiding the glares between them, the sharp twist of a glass knife that further drove their marriage apart, driving a ravine through whatever form of love that once was shared between them.

In the end, it would come down to faith that broke them apart — Freyja knew it, they both knew it. It was as clear as a cloudless sky and she was only forced to watch from the sidelines as it dragged her brother down with it.

Footsteps approached and Freyja lifted her gaze from searching the courtyards guard's and looked towards the entrance of the palace.

Wulfhere came close with a glare fixed on his wrinkled features with Aethelwold trailing close behind, a gown draped across his shoulder.

"Aelderman Wulfhere." Uhtred turned in greeting, confusion laced within his features as he glance the man over once before looking to Aethelwold.

"You know this wretch, I believe?" Without tearing his eyes away Wulfhere gestured towards the shorter man standing inches behind him.

Freyja narrowed her eyes uneasily. "The king's nephew?" She made a show of pressing on her words as if taunting the young man. "We've met."

Wulfhere didn't let the introduction last before he continued. "The king has sent me to punish you — along with Aethelwold here. What his wife would like is for me to pull your guts through your smelly ass."

Aethelwolds expression remained stoic. "Aelswith is forever inventive."

Wulfhere's attention focused on the red haired woman a few feet in the distance. "Lady, you are to go to Aelswith, for comfort. She waits in the chapel."

Folding her hands in front of her skirt, Mildrith wordlessly walked towards the entrance of the palace. She stopped for a short moment beside her husband, giving him one last parting look before she disappeared through the doors.

Once she was far enough away, Wulfhere brought his eyes back to the siblings. "Do you know what the punishment is for drawing your sword before the king?"

Uhtred gave a half shrug. "A fine — payable to the church no doubt."

"Death."

As if they were a mirror image to one another, both Freyja's and Uhtred's eyes widened slightly. There was a passing of fear that flashed within the latter's expression, lingering for a brief blink before it disappeared.

"But Alfred is feeling merciful — you will not dangle, not today. He wants your assurance you will keep the peace."

Uhtred frowned. "What peace?"

"His peace, you fool." Wulfhere snapped calmly and stepped closer into the distance that separated him and the siblings. "It does not matter a gnats dick that you killed Ubba. What matters is that Odda the young has claimed the credit. Should his father die from his wounds, Odda becomes one of the richest men in Wessex and men will want to praise his bravery."

Uhtred slowly rolled his eyes, glaring up at the man. "My bravery."

"Not a gnats dick."

Freyja clicked her tongue. "So you allow him to lie? Isn't that what you Saxons are so against?"

Wulfhere fixed his glare onto her, his hatred for her presence clear as day. "The sun now shines from Odda the youngers asshole, and it is blinding. Do you understand me?" He waited for Uhtred subtle nod. "Good. You are to do penance."

There was no comparing the expressions of confusion on either Uhtred's or Freyja's faces. "To do what?"

"Grovel." Aethelwold slowly dragged out the word. "You are to dress like a girl, go on your knees and be humiliated."

Uhtred's face twisted. "I won't grovel." He wouldn't. He couldn't allow it, not for him — not for Freyja who honestly did not deserve any form of humiliation. She was loyal to him and it seemed that she was being punished for it.

"Then Aelswith gets her wish, and I pull your guts through your ass — which will it be?"

"How about I take my knife and cut out your eye? — that in itself is blinding enough, don't you think?." Freyja mocked, glaring distastefully at the older man. The tips of her fingers tapped absentmindedly against the hilt of her dagger, risking a threat.

Wulfhere turned towards her. "You're lucky Alfred ordered no harm be brought upon you, girl, or you'd have already been beaten mercilessly for your disrespect."

At the words, Uhtred's hand inched outwards, fingers curling around Freyja's wrist. Gently, he pulled her back, instinctively placing himself protectively in front of her.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

UNLIKE THE PINK GOWN
she once forcefully wore, this gown was heavier against her body, practically drowning her frame from shoulders to feet. It was made of thick, unforgiving material that left her feeling warm against the usual cold temperature — too warm even, causing a sheen layer of sweat to coat her skin.

Or maybe that was the humiliation she was about to forcefully face.

She stood beside Uhtred, her hand held tightly in his, her skin screaming with the need to itch beneath the scratchy fabric.

Freyja was almost certain that every single person in Wessex was here to experience their humiliation — to watch them grovel. They surrounded the three, gathering around them to create the muddy path they were to crawl upon.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, harshly, fingers pressing into the yet to heal wound and making her cry out. But nobody cared enough to anything — save for Uhtred who's harsh glared fixed on the man. She was forced to her knees, staining them in mud

"On your knees." Wulfhere ordered, pausing between each word as he stared directly at her brother. Reluctantly, Uhtred lowered himse to the ground in shame and the laughter around them grew in volume. "Now you will crawl, all the way to the palace, where you will kiss the cross and lie flat down on your face."

Uhtred looked up at the sky, dreading every second, hoping that it somehow open up and swallow him whole. "And then what?"

"God and the king will forgive you. Go."

Aethelwold was the first to move, his knees dragging through the mud as he carried himself ahead of the path.

A boot kicked against Uhtreds back, forcing his body the bend forward and catch himself from falling. The laughter grew louder, a deafening sound that echoed around them.

Uhtred and Freyja began to crawl, neither of the two risking the chance to look up and see the eyes that found humour in their humiliation.

Freyja felt ashamed. Angry, confused — but not guilt. No, she was not guilty because she had nothing to be guilty for and she hoped that Uhtred wasn't either, that he wasn't ashamed of his actions — his anger was deserving.

There were sly comments slipped in between the laughter, hands reaching out the claw at her hair and fruit that was thrown in their direction. This time, she couldn't use Uhtred as a shield, this time, she had to face it.

Freyja's head jerked as a tomato was thrown at her face, hitting her square in the cheek. It's juices splattered against her skin, beads of acidic liquid rolling down the flesh.

Freyja glared in the general direction it came from, her jaw screwed tight, but a flash of brunette hair captured her attention. Her eyes trailed, settled on the smaller figure of a child hidden between the gaps of other's.

It was the same little girl she'd seen when she'd first arrived in Wessex, with braids similar to hers and heavy dark brown eyes. There was a frown on her face, as if she were disappointed in the sight before her, saddened by it.

Freyja continued to stare whistfully, her lips slightly parted. The noise seemed to grown distant as if everything had been shoved under water.

The look in the girls eyes was hard to decipher before she turned away, vanishing out of sight, dispersing into the crowd.

"Walk." Her back was shoved and she was ripped back to the surface of reality. Her body lurched forward, palms slapping the wet ground. Splatters of mud coated her gown.

Uhtred yelled in frustration somewhere inches behind her, startling a young boy.

Alfred raised his hand from the steps of the palace and the throwing ceased, but the laughter failed to fall silent.

Freyja looked ahead. There they all stood, the king, the priest, Mildrith, Leofric — his head angled towards the ground as if he couldn't bare to look at the sight of them.

It angered Freyja. This was his doing, his beliefs, his ability to not speak up and voice the truth and now they were being humiliated in front of everyone — the least he could was watch their suffering instead of hiding away from it.

Aethelwold turned his chins, glancing back at the siblings from over his shoulder. "I will lead, but you owe me."

"What?" The siblings spoke, frowns pulling at their lips as they eyed the young man with uncertainty, but before either could question his meaning, Aethelwolds arms shot up above his head, stretched broadly to bring all attention to him.

"Oh," he began shouting as he crawled the rest of the path, stumbling on his knees. "Oh, lord, I am a sinner, do not look at me." Uhtred was shoved forward. Freyja continued to shamefully crawl. "I am a sinner, lord, as big a sinner as you will ever see. I have known women, lord. Lord and lots of women."

"Lucky, bugger." Someone muttered from within the crowd.

"Women of all sizes — the big tits, small tits, I have squeezed and kissed them all. I have rest my head upon the bosoms of beautiful but bad, bad women, lord, forgive me. I — I have lost count of the number of women I have had, but I know it is exactly half the number of tits I have caressed. Oh, god, I love tits." He screeched loudly, eyes squeezing shut as he threw his arms out in a pleading gesture. "Send me an angel, lord."

An elderly man scoffed in amusement and leaned toward the boy. "So you can hump her?"

Aethelwold frantically began to stutter over his words, stumbled closer to the palace as he pointed. "A titless angel to guide me. No more servant girls in my bed chamber, lord, please. I beg you." Reaching the steps, he crashed to the ground face first, finally falling silent.

Alfred payed him no look and turned on his heel, fleeing back into the palace and far enough away from the man he was forced to call his nephew.

For a brief moment, Leofric had lifted his head to follow his king. He stopped short when his eyes accidentally locked onto Freyja and he was the one left feeling guilty over her unruly appearance.

Then he turned completely on his heel, and vanished after his king.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE LIVELY ATMOSPHERE
failed to bring light to her dampening mood no matter how many cups of ale she forced down her throat. Everything was so loud, the drunken laughter that flooded the tavern, the sound of Aethelwold's voice from the next table over, the light trail of a nameless girl's fingers on her brother's skin opposite to where she sat.

She couldn't help my remember that only mere hours ago, all these people had witnessed her humiliation.

"And we appreciate the finer points of the tit," Aethelwold laught from the next table, eyes moving over the men who surrounded him as his hands grabbed for the air. "The smaller tits, the manageable tit, the perk eager delighted tit, the soft enveloping tit, the tit that makes you feel at home,"

The sound of his squeaky voice seemed to fade the moment Freyja's eyes caught sight of the tall warrior. Leofric approached their table, giving a subtle nod of his head that quickly shooed away the women sat at Freyja's side.

His hands placed to the chipped table surface and he lowered himself into the space beside his, his eyes lingering as he not so secretly looked her over.

"How are your knees?" He asked with a slight jest of tone, his brows arching towards his hairline as a moment of amusement flashed behind his eyes.

Freyja jerked her chin to glare harshly at him, her lips sewn shut as she forced herself to not speak. On the table, her free hand curled into a fist, sharp nails pressing into the scarred flesh.

Leofric eyed her in concern.

"I can't laugh about it." Uhtred softly replied, nuzzling his face into the nameless womans chest, embracing himself into the earth she brought. "There's no justice here. Only the church."

"You knew that." Leofric sighed, as if they were supposed to know better, as if they were supposed to act differently and not be ignorant to their punishment. Grasping the cup beside him, he jerked it to the side to empty the liquid it held and placed it on the table. He took the jug of ale, filling him cup to the brim before reaching over to his left and filling Freyja's near empty one.

Uhtred held his cup, bringing it to his lips as he spoke. "I hear you are young Odda's man now."

Staring into her cup, Freyja watched as the ale rippled against the vibrations of someone walking passed. "I guess he has a new ass to wipe now, brother." There was a distain in her voice, a bitterness that Leofric couldn't quite place his finger on.

Leofric sighed again, this time heavier as he sought for Freyja's eyes that failed to reached his. Giving up, he set his arms to the table, focusing on the older of the siblings. "I'm passed from father to son. Yes, like the land."

Uhtred trailed his fingertip along the subtle curve of the table. "We can't stay in Wessex."

It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone other than Freyja who had been watching Leofric from the corner of her eye — the warrior seemed to stiffen at the words her brother spoke, at the thought of them leaving — she wondered why he cared so much. "You have a wife. A child you could not wait to see. Where would you go?"

Uhtred shrugged.

Freyja mumbled over the rim of her cup, sipping slowly at the ale. "Hvor som helst er bedre end her." She knew Leofric couldn't understand here and it was proven by the way he looked at her, but Uhtred understood clearly, and his eyes seemed to linger on her face as he couldn't help but slightly agree.

Wessex has brought nothing but trouble for the two of them. They had lost friends, people they considered family solely because of Uhtred's oath to Alfred who seemed to abused the privilege of having two warriors doing his bidding. Then the moment when the truth is revealed, that it was one of the Saxons to be lying, the two of them are the ones punished for it.

Resting his eyes on the table, Leofric dragged his tongue along his bottom lip, clicking it in amusement. "Odda is afraid that you will kill him."

Uhtred looked eyes, his eyes seeming to hold the light of amusement. "Tell him I might. Tell him each night before he goes to bed."

Leofric chuckled into his drink.

Freyja glanced from her brother to the warrior, her frown a little more forced as her brows pinched. "Might? I'm already planning to kill him in his sleep."

Leofric choked a little as he laughed, a bead of ale rolling down the corner of his mouth that Freyja seemed watch, the liquid disappearing into the dark course hair along his jaw.

Uhtred shared a look with Freyja, ignoring the way he caught her staring and brought up the plan they'd earlier spoke of. "We need to find wealth, but here it's impossible. Dane's, they would see it and take it."

Leofric glanced away with a faraway look before his eyes snapped back to the siblings. "And that is what we do. We become danes and we plunder. Men will follow you. Those men we have schooled — others who were at cynuit, they will follow you." He spoke with such promise.

Gently, Uhtred nudged the woman from his lap and leaned fully against the table, his interest now peaked. "You're saying that we raid?"

Leofric glanced around for any prying eyes, leaning closer towards the center of the table, his eyes dancing back and forth from Freyja to Uhtred. "We find wealth and we take it."

Freyja's brows pulled together as she nursed her cup. "Here in Wessex?"

Leofric's eyes seemed to linger a couple seconds on her before he shook his head. "No, you do not shit at your own table — cornwalum. We take it from the Britons." Both Uhtred and Freyja seemed to shift, their eyes catching on the light of the candle, silent words passing through the passageway of their gaze. Leofric continued with a roll his lips. "Do not say yes, not yet, think — I'll do the same. But why should Odda be rewarded and not us?"

Drinking the last of his drink, Leofric pushed himself from the table and left, leaving Uhtred and Freyja to contemplate his words.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

OSWALD WALKED THE
distance alongside a cow that dragged the stretch of a branchless tree across the dusty ground,. A smile lit his face the moment his gaze sought sight of them, his pace quickening to reach where they had stopped the horses. "Lord, welcome." He greeted Uhtred with an uneasy smile, his eyes quickly darting to Freyja's form on the back of a beautiful grey mare — he nodded to her in silent greeting. "I was not expecting you home so soon. Did the baptism go well?"

Uhtred looked away from him, his expression souring at the mention of his sons baptism — something he did not wish for. His eyes narrowed on the tree tied by a tether of rope, dragged behind the rear of a chestnut coloured Highland cow, large horns sprouting from its head. "It's a fine tree." He noted, bobbing his head in the direction of it.

Oswald turned to look over the tree, his movements sheepish as he glanced towards a silent Mildrith. "Good day, lady."

"A miserable day." She mumbled into the depths of her chest, a frown permanently resting upon her thin lips.

Uhtred continued to focus his attention on the tree. "Where was it felled, this tree?"

"On the top ridge, lord." Oswald shifted, squinting his eyes, licking his lips.

"On my land?"

The fat man began to stutter. "Yes, lord. I am taking it to wigulfs mills, for splitting."

Freyja glanced to her brother in concern.

Uhtred tilted his head. "He buys it?"

"He splits it, lord. We need, uh — we need timber for repairs." He waved a frantic hand in the general direction behind him. "He takes his payment in split wood."

Freyja half frowned, her eyes gazing across the village. "Repairs for what?"

Oswald didn't reply.

Uhtred leaned forward against his saddle. "If we need timber, why not split it ourselves?"

"Wigulfs always done it, lord."

Uhtred clicked his tongue. "So if I go to wigulf, he'll tell me how many such trees he has split. And you will show me the timber." Once again, Oswald was silent. Uhtred straightened in the saddle, his hands grasping the reins. "How much is a tree like this worth? Eight, nine shillings?"

"I'm not certain, lord."

Uhtred's expression fell, a fire dancing within his stare. "How much does he pay you for my timber?"

"Lord, it is one tree."

Freyja carefully examined the look on his face, the sheepish expression that pulled together his features, the bead of nervous sweat that rolled passed his temple. She tilting her head with a narrowed look. "Maybe in this moment. But how many trees all up have you taken to this wigulf."

"Lady, I —"

"Don't lady me." She jerked her head forward, her voice an eerie calm that sent a chill crawling over Oswald's flesh. "Answer the question. How much does he pay you?"

Uhtred unsheathed his dagger and nudged the white steed a few steps closer. "How much does he pay you for my timber?"

"Uhtred, no." Mildrith pleaded.

Uhtred pointed the dagger in her direction, allowing Oswald time to slip into a slow run in hopes of escaping. A dark look coated Uhtred's face, and Freyja was more fearful for her brother then the life of some Saxon.

"You be quiet." Uhtred ordered his wife, taking off into a gallop after the thieving man.

Mildrith slid down from her horse. Freyja followed in pursuit. Mildrith continued to call her husband's name even as Oswald was kicked to the ground.

Freyja's arms wrapped around Mildrith's body, forcing her to stay back. She ignored the burn of orange hair against her cheek. Uhtred reared up. Mildrith screamed out. The horse's hooves crashed down onto Oswald's stomach.

The man was paralyzed both in fear and agony as Uhtred anguishly threw himself from the steed. Freyja was left watching in horror as what innocence was left within her brother slipped away the moment he gripped the dagger, stabbing it into Oswald's chest.

"That was justice."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

word count: 5206

We are getting closer and closer to a certain chapter and I'm not ready!!