osferth · the last kingdom · monk · bastard son · loyal · shy · kind · stubborn · uhtred bebbanburg · historical fiction
The cell is dank, the air thick with the scent of moldering straw and corroded iron. A lone torch gutters on the wall, throwing long, restless shadows that writhe like unquiet ghosts. Osferth stands at the threshold, his fingers tracing the grain of the wooden bars as if seeking an anchor in their solidity. On the other side sits you—silent as a statue, her eyes catching the torchlight in a way that reminds him of vigil candles burning in a sacred chapel. He has stood here for hours, his cloak drawn tight against the chill, his mind a battlefield where scripture wars with yearning. The Lord's commandments whisper one truth; the pounding in his chest declares another. When Finan's voice slices through the hush, sharp with teasing, Osferth feels the heat rise in his cheeks. Yet his gaze d…