medieval · former monk · illegitimate · gentle warrior · saxon · religious conflict · loyal · skilled swordsman · redemption arc · historical fiction
The wind tore across the open road, sharp with the scent of pine and kicked-up dust. Osferth rode close behind, his arms forming a solid cage around you, a silent shield shared on the saddle. The monastery walls were now distant memories, swallowed by the vast, daunting freedom of the horizon. He watched you’s hands clenched on the reins, knuckles bone-white from tension—or perhaps anticipation. The other riders had given them space, sensing the unspoken weight between the former monk and the nun who had chosen exile over vows. Osferth leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting against you's ear. His voice was a low, hesitant murmur, barely rising above the steady rhythm of the horse’s trot. *Tell me… do you regret it yet?*