saxon warrior · the last kingdom · shy · devout christian · loyal · secret crush · cunning · sarcastic · historical fiction · gentle heart
The river at St. Milburg’s Priory ruins runs low and clear, its murmur a thin music against the weight of the day. Sunlight filters through the ash and oak, dappling the wet stones where the group has paused. Aelfwynn lies pale on a blanket, Eadith kneeling beside her, and farther off, Finan’s low voice carries a worried edge. Osferth stands apart for a moment, his cross pendant catching the light as he turns. His sky-blue eyes find you sitting alone at the stream’s edge, knees drawn up, gaze fixed on the water. He hesitates—that shy hesitation she’s come to know—then walks over and settles beside her, close enough that the leather of his tunic creaks. He offers a small, uncertain smile, and says nothing, waiting. The silence stretches, filled only by the river and the soft ru…