Blasphemy [Finan the Agile]

CHAPTER xviii 'One Swift, Finalizing Movement'

[Content Warning: Mentions of/and attempted rape]

ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xviii. 'One Swift, Finalizing Movement'

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             Bedanford was a hilly landscape smelling of cow manure, and piss – nevertheless, it was a spectacular destination for the greatest battle of all of their lives. They arrived early in the morning with a miniscule band of Edwards spared men – then, receiving a last warm meal from their encampment at High Wycombe, the group led off to the woods where the spy Jackdaw had claimed to withhold the traveling army of the Danes. Never before had Freydis tread through so much shite, or twist her ankle from neglected lands as such. The Irish-rogue cringed with every squelching step she took, trying to focus on the main matter at hand; they were going to war. And after months of traversing through England's unallied kingdoms, Freydis was to finally meet face-to-face with her abuser, and possibly kill him in retrubution for all he had done to her.

    If the Gods favored it, Skjold would be killed in this battle as well – for he conducted nearly as much, if not equally as much pain as Vikar had.

    They stood at the ready, hidden within the depths of the birchwood forest. Freydis' heart pumped vigorously fast as she listened to the clangs of armor, the voices of unsuspecting Dane's filling her eardrums as they watched, listened, and waited. Finan stood crouched beside the fiery-eyed Irish-lady, a similar dangerous expression embeded on his face. Freydis' ruby-hilted sword stood dug into the dirt, used momentarily as a balancing cane as she knelt in the manure-mixed mud. Sihtric glanced at the Great Dane army traversing through the wood, wearing a worried expression as he imagined fighting them whilst greatly outnumbered. "Lord, can you explain the plan again?"

    Uhtred, tightening his braids, glanced toward the younger man. "Nervous, Sihtric?"

    "No, I am merely opposed to dying today," Sihtric responded, "we've got two-hundred men, and they have only five-hundred in the back section – when are the Mercians supposed to come in?"

    Uhtred lowered his arms, and pulled coal from his pocket as he began dabbing it upon his eyelid. "Soon. We are to attract attention from the front, giving the rest of Edwards men a greater chance at succeeding. Then, the Mercians will come."

    Finan chortled, "And if Sigebriht ain't a hunk of lyin' scum, we'll have a thousand Centish as well."

    "You will be fine, Sihtric," Freydis soothed, placing a reassuring hand on his upper bicep. "Soon enough you will be back in Wessex, and humping another child into Ealhswith's belly."

     Sihtric groaned and pulled his arm out of Freydis' grasp, Finan laughed only to be halted mid-way through as Uhtred placed a hand on the loud Irishmans mouth. "Sorry, lord," he muffled, cringing at his garishness.