Blasphemy [Finan the Agile]

CHAPTER xxiii. 'The Night Is Dark & Full Of Terrors'

ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xxiii. 'The Night Is Dark & Full Of Terrors'

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            They slept throughout the day, and traveled through the night; a cataclysmic event was forthcoming, and Uhtred the Dane-slayer was eager to become the center of it.

    Æthelflæd's Mercian estate of Aegelsburg was identical to how it had been when they left; dirty, cramped, and stinking of cow manure. Nathless, Uhtred, in heed of his four warriors, entered the small Mercian fyrd-town with a sense of urgency somewhat foreign to the confused Irish-rogue. Freydis trailed closely behind her monk-warrior with her hand hovering over the ruby-hilt of Belenus. The Irish-rogue was utterly exhausted, having traveled from Coccham to Winchester for three days, and three nights, resting one day, and then traveling throughout the night again to Aegelesburg. However, she was not confident that they would be resting for long in the small fyrd-town, for Uhtred planned to speak to Æthelflæd and leave thereafter to not waste any more time.

    For the last several minutes, Uhtred and his right-hand Irishman had been discussing war tactics. Or, more particularly, alternatives to dying. Whilst Finan knew that Freydis has somehow acquired men in her attempts to re-take Linnasburgh, he did not know how many men she had gotten. And it seemed he went with the lower latter of guesses than with the higher — this angered Freydis, but she kept silent. They had called a truce, and she wouldn't be the one to break it. "It's getting into Bebbanburg, that's the problem." Finan reasoned, his initial concerns resolved as Uhtred quickly dismissed his worry's. Uhtred refrained from telling the Irishman the actual number of Freydis' men as well, amused as Finan continued to underestimate the Irish-rogue again and again.

     Sihtric turned to Finan with a lazy grin, "I say we just turn up and ram the gate."

     Finan scoffed at Sihtric's obvious Dane-like thinking, "Or we just ask nicely to be let in?" A nun passed them, and Finan messily drew a Christian cross over his chest, smirking as the nun giggled and went on about her way.

    Now how exactly saddened would Osferth be if Freydis killed a holy-nun?

    "Have you a death wish, Finan?" Freydis inquired, her voice unintentionally irate. "There is no polite asking to be let in, there are only fire-sticks and tar when it comes to indelible usurpers."

     Finan did not spare her a single look, shrugging as he held tightly onto the hilt of his sword. "And yu'v got knowledge in that criteria, eh, princess?"

     Freydis rolled her eyes, a slight shiver overtaking her sternum as Finan used her illy-reputed nickname as Dunholm's captive. "Bitterness is repugnant on you, Irishman. You must change your ways, or else Arawn may shite on your pillow tonight."