The Last Kingdom Fanfiction
Continuing where Wolf-Heart left off, at Season 2, episode 5. Finan and Faoladhean navigate parenthood while serving under Uhtred's command as the peace in Wessex comes to an end. This story will continue through the seve...
When a new group of captives was brought to the slavers’ camp at Alt Clut, Amlaíb made an example of one of the men to show them exactly what punishment would be meted out if anyone were to be caught speaking. The man had yelled to one of the guards to ask for another drink of water, and began complaining loudly to the other captives that he was being ignored; instead of a water skin, he received five lashes of the single-tail whip, doled out where everyone would witness it.
“Let this be a lesson,” Amlaíb shouted, “and remember that the first infraction is five lashes. The second will be ten!”
Wincing as the man was tossed back inside the shelter and his shackles strung onto the chain, Giric fought back another wave of anger. Despite the threat of punishment ever looming, Giric found himself able to keep Cuilén entertained and quiet. The poor boy was slowly going mad from the lack of comfort and inability to move freely. Often, Giric would whisper stories and tales of the legends and deeds of the old gods to the boy, the same that he told his own kin when they were young, and the same he often told Aodhán after shared suppers. While the rest of the captives either ignored or listened quietly to Giric’s stories, Máire would keep watch for the guards and let Giric know if one was coming so that he wouldn’t be caught.
The stories seemed to be helping the young boy, as the temper tantrums he had been prone to had ceased for the most part, and he slept more easily. Máire would offer Giric small smiles while he was telling stories, but there was always a sort of guarded wariness about her. Giric only noticed because he found himself drawn to her in a way he was unfamiliar with, at least in recent memory. He had, of course, availed himself of the occasional alehouse whore over the years, but had always kept his distance from women otherwise. Máire was the first woman in years who made him curious to know more about her. Get your head on. She is a captive more so than you, and you will likely never see her again once you are freed from this place. Giric sighed, knowing he was far too old for flights of fancy, but some part of him still clung to that little spark of curiosity. Faoladhean and Leofgar should be here any day now, perhaps we can bargain for Máire and Cuilén as well. Please, Great Father, guide her safely here.
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“There are only six men guarding fifteen captives as of yesterday. They are all chained to the shelter and only allowed to move twice a day.” Sihtric looked between Uhtred, Finan, and Faoladhean as they stood in a partial circle. Leofgar stood slightly behind them.
“Six men,” Uhtred repeated, his arms crossed over his chest and gaze on the ground. “That will change when a boat arrives, I am sure.”
“If that happens,” Faoladhean interjected, “if a boat arrives, how many more men would that be?” She looked at Uhtred, then Finan.
Uhtred shook his head slightly. “It is impossible to say.”
Faoladhean was quiet as she lost herself in thought for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest. Sighing softly, she raised her gaze again. “How do we approach this? Do we all go to the camp, or just a few of us?”
