Tu Es Ma Lumière

82 - The Shadow Queen

(Before we get started, thank you for all your lovely messages after the last oneshot. They really helped. So, this oneshot is based off The Last Kingdom, a BBC/Netflix show that Toby starred in for a time. If anybody hasn't seen it, I recommend giving it a watch on Netflix. The show could get a little slow at times, but I do recommend watching it. It's just finished its fourth season, but in my opinion, the finale was completley unsatisfactory and could have been made a hell of a lot better. Toby plays a bad guy in it, but I could never completley hate him because of my love for Francis and Frary. Ironically, Aethelred -his character- died of the same injury that Francis did in Reign, even if it was a lot more gruesome and raw. He completley owned s4 episode 5, his last episode. Whilst binge watching it to get to Toby's parts, I became extremely intrigued with the character Iseult, a pagan shadow Queen of the British tribes. I loved the character and her and Uhtred's relationship, and couldn't resist giving it a Frary spin and writing it. So, hope you enjoy! Also, only Mary's name is properly translated into what it would have been in this time, I couldn't figure out any other translation. All I could find was useless generators. Google can be a bitch >:( Make sure to comment about this one, these kinds of one shots don't really get much feedback unfortunately, but I'd really like to hear what you guys think of this.)

The doors to the palace opened with a loud clatter, wooden doors banging against hard walls. The sound echoed for several seconds, an impressive amount of footsteps providing a counter beat to the melody. Leather groaned as it was moved in quick succession, weaponry screeching in protest as they moved in their scabbards, with the motion of their masters' footsteps. The gruff of breaths and wheeze of chests finally came to a ceasefire, fifty large, burly men finishing their entrance into the royal palace of the Kingdom of Scotland.

"Fransis Henrýsson." King Henrý of Scotland grinned manically, clapping his old hands underneath his older chin that was covered by an impressive, greying beard. Dark, greying hair was in braids and twists, falling behind large shoulders. A crown of gold was on top of his head, a habit of bears fur covering his body and back from his throne that he sat comfortably upon. Although an old King, the King Henrý still held his imposing stature, looking down from the throne he sat on, high above the pagan army that he had sent for, for the throne sat on a higher level than the men stood on upon the flooring.

The Viking warrior rose his chin up towards the old King with his old Queen as they sat upon their thrones. Beauty had faded for the King and Queen of Scotland, although they had ruled Scotland for not even a decade, he had heard.

King Henrý stared down at the Danish Warrior who stood before him. He head heard stories of this young man. From birth, a Christian heirship prince of Francia. A siege lead by Henrý Ubbesson had taken the child from his long dead mother and father, and a boat had taken him from the comforts of Francia to Denmark, where the boy was used as a slave for the powerful Viking Earl. An attempt to buy the boy back from the Earl by a French monk had lead to the Earl buying the boy for himself. From there, the six year old child rose the boy with his own children, strong and brave and pagan. As he grew, so did his reputation as a fearless warrior. An unstoppable warrior that had reigned savagery upon Wessex and East Anglia, the King had heard. He was rich from his raids and payoffs, his entourage fiercely loyal just as dangerous and well trained as he was. Yet, it was Francis Henrýsson who lead them.

"I am so glad you have arrived." he stated, bumbling up from his throne to walk the two sets of staircases, meeting the young man upon the floor. The stories of the man's looks and height were also true, his body thick and muscular underneath his clothing. Francis towered over this Scottish King, who held height in his own right. Long blonde hair was knotted and braided around his head and over his fur covered shoulders. Icy blue gaze was imposing and penetrating, a far cry from the black eyes of the King.