DREAM OF ME, sihtric & finan

10 - the father and the uncle

CHAPTER TEN; the father and the uncle

"His name is Rorik?" Uhtred was the one to ask after a good few seconds. Sihtric was unable to do anything other than dwell in his stunned silence, his eyes burning into the face of the little boy who was burying his head into Tova's stomach to hide himself from the stare. Tova nodded at her brother, glimpsing toward her ex-lover. Uhtred stepped toward her again, meeting Rorik's eyes. "My nephew."

Tova's smile was tight, fingers curling upon her son's shoulder. "He is," She confirmed and relaxed somewhat at the feel of Uhtred's hand resting against her arm, squeezing lightly. But his eyes didn't stray from the child. "He has heard many stories of my brothers. His Uncles. Haven't you, Rorik?"

The mention of stories of their youth being told to his sister's son made Uhtred smile grow, thinking back on those memories. Him, Tova, and Brida with older Ragnar around. Thyra eventually stuck to their Mother like glue. "He has heard of me? And Ragnar?"

Rorik's fingers lace around Tova's. "My Uncle?" His mismatched eyes narrow toward his Mother's brother. "He is my Uncle, Mama?"

His eyebrows slowly knit together as he stares at the boy. If he was not mistaken, he'd of thought his nephew, Rorik, perhaps sounded. . . unconvinced. Did he not believe Uhtred of Bebbanburg to be who Tova said he was?

So, Uhtred lifted his head and took a step back from Tova and her son. "I am your Uncle, Rorik." And still, the boy's eyebrows furrowed and he looked toward the dirt. "Do I not live up to your stories?"

Despite Uhtred's last words having been meant as a jest, Rorik did not understand that and answered most honestly. "No."

Laughter burst from the Irishman, both surprised and gleeful at the boy's humour. "That was charming," Finan spoke between his amusement, and Uhtred turned his head to throw his good friend a glare. "I mean it, Lord. It's most certain he's your nephew."

A smile came from that from Uhtred. Tova looked to him, taking in the dark beard and the cross chain around his neck. He was a Christian and he served her brother. "You serve the same God as Peter," She spoke, and found Finan's eyes on her near instantly. "You ride alongside my brother and. . ." She stilled, not knowing how to refer to Sihtric now he was in front of her, still silent.

Finan understood though. "I do," His hand rested on the pommel of his sword. "I serve your brother, Lord Uhtred. You can trust me, Lady."

Sihtric moved, taking a few steps forward. Tova's eyes did not break her gaze with Finan for another second, lifting her chin and deciding she'd need to clear any of that nonsense up. "I am no Lady, Christian. I am Tova, a Dane. Daughter of Ragnar, sister of Uhtred," Her fingers squeezed her son's shoulder, and his mismatched eyes blinked up at her, "And Mother of Rorik. And you?"

She felt Sihtric's fingertips skim her arm, ghosting up toward her elbow. He was leaning against her side and Tova's eyes returned to him, as she'd been imagining doing so again for a few years now, and nothing had ever felt greater. Though her fingers remained keeping Rorik to her front. Almost nothing.

He was staring at her as if she was unreal. As if she'd up and disappear if he took his gaze away, and perhaps that explained his grip, as his other hand slowly moving past her stomach — she could feel the silver of the arm piece against her mid-section — to rest on top of Tova's. Their son's shoulder. Keeping them there and bound to him in case his fears were true. In case they weren't really there.

( She understood that well. She'd imagined him more than twice after birthing Rorik of Sihtric's presence. If he wasn't sitting and watching her, he was stood over their son's cot. Staring down at the boy that was half him and yet so far away.