𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 || ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴋɪɴɢᴅᴏᴍ

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 - ʟᴇꜱꜱᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴛʏ.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 —
ʟᴇꜱꜱᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴛʏ
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ — ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

UHTRED'S STEPS WERE
laced with something anguish and bitter as he stormed through the palace corridors of Wessex. His heels echoing, tunneling endlessly against the stretch of walls each time his foot slapped the cold, hard ground.

Freyja trailed closely behind him, her spiral of emotions a little more composed but still, a glare rested almost permanently on her face. Her lips were pressed thinly, boarding a frown as she ignored Beoccas heeds in attempting to slow them down.

They were well aware that Alfred was in the church for prayers. They were well aware of the policy against weapons set in place — but neither of them seemed to care as the marched towards the doors of the chapel.

"Will you get your brother to listen for once?" Beocca snapped with an unusually sharp tone as he followed quickly behind the two Danes, his eyes glaring over the younger, more feminine of the two.

Freyja scoffed a sneer if her lips and passed hints of a glare across her shoulder. "I'm not his mother." She gave a half excuse, facing her attention ahead as they turned the corner.

Once the doors of the church came into view, Beocca panicked, his voice grower louder as he shouted with plead. "Uhtred. Uhtred, your sword."

The doors crashed open with an unforgiving bang as they slammed and all noise of the room fell deathly silent. Various pairs of eyes scattered in their direction.

Alfred slowly rose to his feet, his glaring eyes already fixed on Uhtred who shifted with unease beneath the multiple gazes set on not him and his sister.

The rest of the room stood along with the king and Freyja easily found Leofric's towering figure amongst them, his eyes filled with disappointment as he stared at her.

Uhtred swallowed thickly, his palm resting over his chest. "Forgive me, but I am told you believe me dead?"

Beocca bowed his head to the ground, feeling multiple emotions at once — embarrassment, guilt, disappointment. Time and time again he had attempted to help Uhtred, to teach him — but the result seemed to mirror eachother each and every time.

"Uhtred this is not the time."

Uhtred wasn't hearing it, he wasn't reading the room like Freyja was, he wasn't keeping silent. He cut the priest off, barely allowing him time to finish before he gesturing widely to the elderly man. "Father Beocca here believed me dead and yet just days ago I was at cynuit with lord Odda. I was lord Odda and I who devised our battle plan." His anger steps thundered the room as he approached this king, pointing a stern finger on young Odda's direction. "Did the boy not say?"

Realisation dawn on Alfred who began to fit the missing pieces together like an unsolved puzzle. He glanced towards young Odda with a disappointing glance, jaw sealed firmly shut.

Freyja carefully moved behind her brother, trailing behind him like a dog on a leash, loyal in the very bones she barred. She believed that there were better ways to confront the king, ways that brought much less attention — he would earn nothing this way, no treasures, no reward, no respect on the king's behalf with how he behaved.

But still, despite her better judgement, she followed her brother like a loyal soldier, chin held high, eyes fixed into a stern, unwavering glare, hand folded behind her back.