Vagabond | The Last Kingdom

Twenty one

Sometimes, unexpected journeys through time lead to timeless love stories.

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Ascending the stairs, we encountered Hild and Uhtred, our hearts heavy with anticipation. Uhtred's voice cut through the tension, "Where's Haestan?" Hild's response carried a weight of sorrow as she disclosed his demise. Guilt knotted within me, doubts I had harboured about him now seemed trivial, relegated to the periphery of my mind.

Returning to the present conversation, my attention refocused as Sihtric passed Hild his sword. The weariness etched across her face did not escape me, prompting me to offer solace. "One last time," I murmured, clasping her hand gently. She met my gaze, a silent affirmation passing between us.

With Aelfwynn and Hild dispatched towards their destination, we found ourselves atop the ramparts, observing the unfolding events below.

"Edward surely can't be this stupid," remarked Finan, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding. "He's the dictionary definition of stupid" I muttered, eliciting a wry smile from him. "Apologies, no dictionaries at hand," I added, acknowledging the moment with a touch of levity.

"My wife and her strange manner of speech," Finan quipped, drawing laughter from Sihtric "My husband is going to risk getting a thrashing if he doesn't focus on not trying to get us killed" I retorted, punctuating the exchange with a feigned smile.

Uhtred's interjection halted our banter as he pointed out the approaching Scots, a grim reminder of the impending danger. Grumbling curses, we resigned ourselves to the grim reality. "Those stupid bastards" Finan grumbled as I stepped back in defeat. 

"Who's that by the forest?" queried Sihtric, directing our attention to a distant figure. Straining our eyes, we sought to discern the mysterious presence amidst the trees, our senses attuned to the unfolding drama.

"Horses," Uhtred declared, his resolve galvanized as he sprinted towards the stables. We followed suit, hastening towards the shelter of the trees. After securing our mounts, we proceeded on foot, determined to intercept the enigmatic figure glimpsed from above.

Among the familiar faces stood Aelswith, Stiorra, and her retinue, resigned yet resolute. Despite their initial inclination to withdraw, Uhtred's impassioned plea resonated deeply. He painted a vision of Northumbria as a new Danish homeland, a sanctuary where Saxon and Dane could coexist harmoniously.

"Stiorra, this is not merely for them but for us," I urged, clasping her hands in solidarity. Her gaze shifted between Uhtred and me, a silent accord forged in the crucible of shared purpose.

Edward and his army teetered on the precipice, pushed closer to the brink with each passing moment. In a decisive manoeuvre, Uhtred and Stiorra spearheaded the Danish reinforcements, striking the Scots from their vulnerable rear flank. The Saxons, emboldened by this surge of support, rallied their forces, and together we repelled Constantin from the field, reclaiming the tenuous advantage.

"Secure the commander," Uhtred's voice cut through the chaos, his eyes ablaze with determination. He outlined the necessity of apprehending their foe, who had resorted to hostage tactics. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I steadied myself, hands on knees, struggling to catch my breath amidst the fervour of battle.

"Come on, Pyrlig, I reckon we've got this," I rallied, though my appearance must have elicited amusement from him. With shared resolve, we surged forward, Pyrlig seizing the commander while I swiftly bound him with rope, his struggles proving futile against our determined efforts.

"Quit your squirming," I urged, exerting pressure as I cinched the knot securely, my leg pinning his flailing arms. As Pyrlig hoisted him upright, the ebb of battle signalled our triumph, the tide turning in our favour.