Lady Luck| Finan The Agile| The Last Kingdom

TWO

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"What is that meant to be?" Father Pyrlig asked me, evident confusion lining his face. He had taken a break from praying over Aethelred, and he now sat in a chair on the other side of the bed.

"It was meant to be a scarf," I muttered, raising up the knitting I had been doing for the better half of the day. It had somehow unravelled four times and then taken the odd shape of an oval.

"I have been in need of a scarf," Father Pyrlig mused politely, "if you are not opposed, I will take the one you have made."

I snorted softly, settling the knitting into the drawer of the nightstand and forcing it closed, "I would rather give you the two silver to go and buy one."

Father Pyrlig chortled softly before his smile fell as his eyes landed on Aethelred. He sniffed harshly, dragging his hand over his mouth and stubble.

I felt sorry for him in a way. He was missing the feast to pray over a turd and most likely a turd who had been unkind to him at one point or another. "If you would like, Father, I am happy to keep sitting with him while you take a minute to stretch your limbs."

Pyrlig glanced up at me before shaking his head, "I am quite alright, don't you worry."

"Suit yourself," I clasped my hands in my lap, fidgeting slightly as my back ached, "though I hear they are serving a fine roast goose."

"Must you tempt me with such promises," Father Pyrlig chuckled again, his hand reaching out to pat the side of Aethelred's bed, "I am trying to pray."

"There is only so much you can pray, Father," I comforted him quietly, glancing at Aethelred, who grew sweater and paler by the second.

"I disagree," Pyrlig sighed, "but I find it hard to make genuine prayers for a man who showed such little goodness in his life."

"I fear you are not the only one who suffers such a fate," I turned away from the dying man to the table at the end of the room. Holy relics had been brought in by Mercia's priests to help in their prayers and to, perhaps, perform a miracle. "Does that make us terrible people though, or does it make us human?"

"Well," Pyrlig pulled a face, "if you wished to become a Saint one day, I would say it makes you a terrible person."

"And if I only wish to be buried a common beggar?" I countered, my smile growing as his did.

"Then, it makes you human," Pyrlig nodded, "though, you are better than me still. You sit beside a man who has harmed the lady you serve harshly."

"Believe me, Father," I muttered, looking at Aethelred's sweaty face, "I sit here only for her, and as you know, Aethelflaed is the best of us all. I pray God is kinder to her from here on out."

"Amen," Father Pyrlig agreed, making the sign of the cross before rising with a quiet groan, "however, I will take you up on the offer of stretching my legs now." He smiled awkwardly, "Nature calls."

I laughed softly, nodding once, "I look forward to your return. Our conversations are the only saving grace in this room."

Father Pyrlig hurried away with a smile on his face, and there was a brief flutter of noise as he opened the door, the sounds of feasting and talks, before the door shut again.

Aethelred and I were once again each others only company.

Aethelred's eyes opened as the door closed  and his eyes flit around uncertainly.

"It is still unfortunately only me, Lord," I sighed, studying my hands.

Aethelred breathed heavily, "Good."