Having assembled the guard in the chilled, sodden training yard, Uhtred looked over everyone; the newer men who had hopes of earning a place in his guard were standing in a group separate from everyone else. This would be the final day in a week of trials for the newcomers to prove themselves and potentially become official members of the guard. None of them looked overly promising, but he still had to give them the chance to prove their aptitude and trainability.
Faoladhean stood in the endless drizzle, muttering under her breath in Gaelic about the rain. Facing off with her partner, a tall, lanky young blond Dane named Grimmundr, Faoladhean blinked the rainwater from her eyes as Sihtric called out the forms, Finan and Uhtred watching the hopefuls carefully. Form by form they practiced both offensive and defensive blows and strikes, the sound of wood clashing on wood echoing around the training yard. Faoladhean glared at Grimmundr, who seemed intent on tripping her into the mud, regardless that they were not meant to be working on grounded combat. Luckily, her smaller stature gave her the advantage of agility and speed over his seeming clumsy oafishness, and she was able to avoid ending up on her arse.
Forms completed, they moved into sparring. Faoladhean clenched her teeth in frustration as Grimmundr swung his staff for her head, which she quickly ducked with her shield up. His overhead strike left his side completely open, which she capitalized as she came up and swung around. Striking him in the ribs, she then swept her leg into his knees and knocked him flat on his back in the mud. Poking the end of her staff on his neck as he lay on the ground with his nostrils flaring in anger, Faoladhean smirked but said nothing. She withdrew her staff and turned around to step back, allowing him room to stand.
Facing off again, Faoladhean could see he was going on the offensive and allowing his frustration to lead him. He lunged at her with a forward strike of his staff which she easily deflected with her shield. Faoladhean quickly moved herself close to him and thrust her staff at his ribs again, as he had, again, left himself wide open and unprotected. He swung his shield around, aiming for Faoladhean's chest; her foot slid in the mud as she tried to dodge. A shocking jolt vibrated through her head as the edge of Grimmundr's shield connected with her chin and he pushed her back with it, effectively toppling her.
Faoladhean hit the ground with a grunt and the wind knocked out of her. She lay there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, and felt blood dripping down her chin. "Shite!" She sat up cursing in Gaelic as Grimmundr smirked at her, looking all too pleased with himself.
"Hey! What happened? Faoladh, ya all right?" Finan had jogged over as soon as he saw her flat on the ground and slow to rise, his brow set low with concern as he squatted down beside her. "Let me see," he said sternly, ignoring the hiss Faoladhean let out as he grasped her bloody chin to inspect the damage.
"Ach, the dreich weather and all the mud. I lost my footin' and landed my chin on that eejit mac-na-galla's shield." Faoladhean spat out irritably, obviously upset at such a stupid injury.
Finan glanced at the smirking young man, anger rising in his blood, but he kept calm and helped Faoladhean to her feet. Injuries happen when sparring, and he knew it wasn't intentional; it was the fact that the lad lacked the slightest bit of remorse. That lack of compassion for fellow guards was not a good look, and he made note to himself to tell Uhtred to pass him over. "Looks like ya need a couple of stitches, it went pretty deep. Let's get ya off to the healer." He wrapped an arm around her, then threw a dirty look over his shoulder at Grimmundr, who had enough sense to stop smirking as he caught the fire in the Irishman's eyes.
"Finan," Faoladhean said as they headed to the gate of the training yard, "I can take myself to the healer. Ye have to be here to help Uhtred with the prospects." She stopped and looked up at him, seeing the tension in the set of his jaw and concern in his eyes. "I will be fine." She laid her hand on his cheek and felt a muscle twitch under her palm as she tried to give him a reassuring smile.
He sighed, and his face softened slightly. "Ya sure? Uhtred would understand if-"
"Finan, love," she interrupted him as her head began to ache, "it is only a few stitches. I am fine. Go on, I will find ye when I am patched up. And noe covered in mud."
Settling his hands at her hips, he reluctantly nodded. "All right, m'chroí." He squeezed gently as he pulled her closer to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I would hug ya, but...you are kind of a mess." His eyes regained the mischievous glint she loved so much as he smiled at her.
Faoladhean started laughing as she looked up at him. "Oh aye, of course. Cannae get ye all muddy. It would certainly be unbecoming for the lord's second-in-command." She scoffed as she patted his cheek. "Go on." She jerked her head toward the field, her hand caught in Finan's as she began to walk away.
He reluctantly let go of her fingers and watched her walk to the main street, then turned back toward the field with irritation rankling under his skin. Finan stopped next to Uhtred, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the sparring with a sour expression plastered to his face.
"Tell me it is not my imagination that these new men are hopeless." Uhtred spoke with his gaze set on the field.
Finan snorted. "No, it is not." Mirroring Uhtred, he crossed his arms over his chest, a frown pulling his brow low again. "Especially that big lummox Faoladhean was paired with. Too cocky for one who knows so little. Can't train that out of someone."
"Mm," was all Uhtred said as his gaze fell on the man in question. "She is all right, though?"
"Aye, she will be. Sent her to see the healer for stitches." He sighed with frustration. "Idjit didn't even have decency enough to check on her or have one bit of concern for her. Seems he only wants to wield a sword, not be part of a unit and work with others."
Uhtred was quiet as he watched Grimmundr make yet another would-be-fatal mistake with his inability to shield himself. He knew Finan well enough to trust his judgment, though he did take a moment to ponder if his friend was overreacting because his heart was involved. Just as he started down that line of thought, he watched as one of the other hopefuls got a strike in on him again, to which Grimmundr became angry, threw his shield on the ground and gripped the staff with both hands. He was about to swing wildly at his partner's head until Lanferth stepped in and disarmed him. "He will be let go then. I have no patience for that behavior."
Finan nodded and gazed out over the training yard. "And the others?"
Shaking his head, Uhtred looked at Finan. "Arselings. All of them."
Finan chuckled. "Well...perhaps, if an army could win by farting alone, we could take them all into the guard."
Uhtred scoffed and put his hand on Finan's shoulder. "If only it were that easy, hm? Go to your woman, I will deal with letting them all know they are hopeless arselings. Except for maybe that one," he jerked his head toward the stable wall where a scruffy, pathetic-looking dog sat, drenched and covered in mud.
****
After changing out of his soaked clothes, Finan set about stoking the fire and heating water while he waited for Faoladhean to finish with the healer. He had seen the mud caked into her plaited hair and knew she would, no doubt, want to wash it out; being able to get water warmed up for her made him start thinking that maybe it was time to invest in a large tub for her. Afterall, she couldn't go bathe in the river in the winter without risking catching cold. What a wedding gift that would be, he thought with a chuckle, but doubted that he would be able to get one in time - especially with river traffic soon coming to an end for the winter. For now, the small basin would have to do.
Finan sat in the chair next to the hearth to wait, gazing at the flames almost meditatively. For all that had happened in the few short years since he was forced out of Ireland, he never would have imagined ending up where he now found himself. The almost immediate bond with Uhtred, the loss of Halig after their escape attempt, being rescued by Ragnar and Hild. Making good on his vow to kill that bastard Sverri while hardly strong enough to wield the sword. Sieging Dunholm just a few months later and being led to find Faoladhean, and a little more than a year later preparing to wed her.
He never would have pictured any of it; in fact, when he allowed himself time to dream while enslaved, it was always dreams of how different things would have been if he hadn't been such a damned fool...not how much better things could one day be. He didn't think he had a future, assuming he would have even made it off that damned boat.
Of course he and Uhtred (although Finan knew him as Osbert then) would discuss taking back his ancestral home, but they all talked loads of shite when they could. It was the only thing that kept them motivated and gave them any reason to keep pulling the damn oar day after day after day. If an oar slave, such as he and Uhtred had been, didn't succumb to starvation, exhaustion, illness, or being beaten to death, the monotony alone would have been enough to send a weak man into madness.
For Finan, his one motivator that kept him fighting every day, aside from his sheer stubbornness, was his oath to run Sverri through with a sword, and that was exactly what he did the moment he was freed. His one motivating drive for the past few years had been achieved. After that, he was adrift - no name, no title, no land, no family, and absolutely no plan; as Sverri's body cooled in the grass above the shore, it was then that Finan had known without question that he would follow Uhtred wherever the path led them. When Ragnar asked Finan if he was Uhtred's brother, he had said "we are bound;" the thought of his own brother, Conall, was still a gaping raw wound, even after three years under that bastard slaver. He was in no way able to claim brotherhood with anyone then. Now, it would be a different answer. Bound they were, and the brotherhood he had gained in Uhtred was stronger than the brotherly bond he'd ever had with his blood brother. Sihtric, too, for that matter.
Destiny and fate were fickle, funny things, and as he sat contemplating the journey of his life so far, the irony of it all wasn't lost on Finan. If he hadn't fallen for Nuala and things hadn't taken such a terrible turn, he never would have crossed paths with Uhtred; if he had never ended up on that damned ship, he wouldn't be betrothed to the woman whom, without a doubt, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and God willing, have a couple children someday - if she was also willing. They had talked about it once recently, while Faoladhean was caring for Young Uhtred while Gisela rested. She looked beautiful with a babe in her arms, he'd thought, and he knew she would be a brilliant mother, though Faoladhean seemed hesitant.
"We are warriors, and while we know peace now, it will noe always be this way," she had said. "I dinnae ken if I could stomach leaving a bairn behind, or worse, leave them an orphan."
"And what if you gave up the sword when the time came?" He had asked, not to pressure her, just as a point of consideration. She had understood that, thankfully, and gazed down at Young Uhtred while she mulled over Finan's question.
"And do what else with my life?" Faoladhean scoffed and looked back at Finan. "I dinnae ken any of the 'womanly arts,' aside from basic cooking and mending. I've been wielding weapons since I was hardly a wean able to walk on my own. What would ye have me do to pass my days whilst I await you to return from each battle? I dinnae ken I even want to be left behind. At least if I am with ye..." A pained expression crossed her features.
She didn't have to finish that thought, because he knew. She was right, of course; the peace would not last, it was nearly a given. At least if they rode to battle together, there would be no sleepless nights for her, wondering if he would be coming home or not. He had also considered that briefly, but not allowed himself to dwell on it. And having no answers of his own for her, the conversation was left at that.
He knew he was getting ahead of himself, and sighed. It was only a moment or two later that the door opened and a tired, bedraggled Faoladhean entered, surprised to see him. Finan stood and pulled her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head as her arms circled him. She turned her face up toward him, and he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "M'aingeal álainn," he said softly as he gazed down at her. "How are ya?"
"Only five stitches," she said, "and they should be able to come out the day before the wedding and feast." She tipped her head back to show Finan the underside of her chin, and he grimaced at the sight of the black thread that contrasted almost grotesquely against her fair skin.
"And how are ya feelin'? Does it hurt much still?"
She shook her head as she moved to sit down and remove her muddy boots. "Noe so bad, now that I'm noe having a needle shoved through my skin repeatedly. Just a bit of an ache in my head still, but I am all right."
Finan had knelt down in front of her to pull off her boots, and moved onto unlacing her mud-covered cuirass and helped her pull it off. After getting it over her head, he looked down at her face, which held an amused expression as she gazed up at him. "It is just a few stitches, love, noe a grievous injury that has incapacitated me."
"Am I not allowed to care for my wife-to-be?" He kissed her cheek as he stood up and went to the pot of water near the hearth, checking the temperature to make sure it wasn't too hot. "I have warm water for ya to wash the mud from your hair, ready whenever you are." He motioned to the wash basin set on the table, then grabbed the small cake of soap and set it next to the towels he had already laid out.
Faoladhean was quiet, and when he turned back toward her, she had tears in her lovely gray-green eyes. "What's wrong, mo chroí?" He went back to kneel before her and took her hands in his, resting them in her lap. She gave him a watery smile and a tear slipped down her cheek.
"I just...when ye said your 'wife-to-be,' a-and you are so thoughtful..." she wiped another tear as she held his deep brown gaze, smiling. "I love you so much, it takes my breath away sometimes." She laughed as he squeezed her hands and smiled at her, that gorgeous, brilliant smile that she would never tire of. "No one has ever cared for me the way ye do, nor loved me so deeply that I feel like I have found a piece of me I didna ken was missing. Like I told ye before, tá mo chroí istigh ionat. Truly."
Finan brushed a few stray strands of hair off Faoladhean's face then carefully cupped her face in his large hands. "A chuisle mo chroí," he kissed her forehead and turned his gaze back to her eyes, smiling softly. "Mo fhíorghra," he laid a kiss to her cheek, "m'shíorghra." He laid a chaste kiss on her lips, and held her so gently as he gazed on her that it made her breath catch. "I swear to ya, Faoladhean, I did not know love like this before you, and I hope to never give ya a reason to shed any tears but happy ones."
Wrapping her arms around Finan's neck, Faoladhean buried her face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, happy tears falling slowly to dampen his tunic as she reveled in his scent and warmth. Finan wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back slowly. He held her that way for a while, both of them content to just soak each other in while the fire crackled gently in the hearth. The tears, happy though they were, finally stopped falling after a few moments, and Faoladhean pulled back slightly with a small smile. "I still need to wash the rest of the blood off my neck, as well as the mud from my hair."
"Well, let's get to it. I can help, if ya'd like." Finan stood and gave her a half smile, his eyes twinkling in the light from the flames.
"Is this your way of telling me ye want to help?" She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, soft and slow, fighting to hold back a smile as she did.
"Mm," he hummed against her lips. "I do love playing with your hair."
"I have noticed that," Faoladhean laughed softly at him as she began to undo the singular plait, silently thanking the Goddesses and her ancestors for bringing the two of them together.
*****
Galloping Airgid across the fields outside of Coccham was one of Faoladhean's favorite ways to blow off steam, or to just escape once in a while. She didn't have the opportunity to do it as often as she would have liked with the rigorous training schedule and guard duty shifts, but this was a rare day in which she had neither to worry about. Finan stayed in town, waiting on a trader who was due in at the docks; it didn't bother her in the least to go out alone, as it allowed her time to think or pray, or just enjoy the air. With their wedding and Blood Month feast little more than a week away, Gisela was proving every bit the taskmaster, ensuring that everything would be perfect, and Faoladhean needed a break from it all. Taking Airgid out for a gallop was just what she needed.
The afternoon was sunny and warm for the season, a welcome change from the near-constant drizzle of the past two weeks. Faoladhean had brought along a bow and some arrows. It had been ages since she had practiced archery, and she feared her skills were becoming rusty. Not that she had ever been a fantastic archer - it was her least favorite combat weapon, though it had its uses, especially hunting. She had stopped Airgid after a small distance into the woods and tied him to a tree, then walked as quietly as possible deeper into the woods to hunt small game.
After a couple hours of creeping around through the trees, Faoladhean had brought down a couple of rabbits, a pheasant, and a ptarmigan; while it wasn't much, she knew the furs and feathers could be useful to some of the craftspeople in town, not to mention the meat. After a quick field dressing of her take, she laced them together and tied them onto the back of her saddle, and headed Airgid back toward town. The sun was setting earlier now, with winter coming soon, and she wanted to be back before nightfall, lest Finan worry after her.
Waving to the guards at the gate as she entered, Faoladhean went immediately to the stable to put up Airgid, but took a few minutes to check him over and stroke his muscular neck, speaking softly in Gaelic to him. She chuckled as he mouthed at her braid and scolded him for it, then pulled a handful of oats from the bucket to feed him from her palm. Giving him a couple more pats on his neck, Faoladhean slung the bow and quiver over a shoulder, and gathered up her afternoon's quarry. As she walked past the stalls toward the door, she was suddenly shoved roughly into the wall. Gaining her footing quickly, she spun to see who was responsible, anger rising up in an instant.
"What-Grimmundr?! What do ye want?" Her eyes flashed emerald with her anger in the torchlight as her adrenaline ran fire through her veins.
The man in question had been lurking in an empty stall, waiting for her to pass by. He was now looming over her, his eyes blazing with anger.
"You owe me." His voice came out menacingly as he stared hard at her, not blinking.
Scoffing at him, Faoladhean tried to push past, but Grimmundr caged her against the stall with his arms, blocking her path with his body. Huffing out a breath, she looked up at him with a brow raised, showing he wasn't intimidating her. "Owe ye? I owe ye nothing, considering I was the one who ended up needing stitches."
His dark eyes glittered ferally as he stared down at her. "No, you owe me for costing me my spot on Uhtred's guard. You and that Irish bastard, I know you were responsible for Uhtred turning me away!"
Faoladhean's heart rate picked up, knowing this was going to be a dangerous game played on a slippery slope. "Grimmundr, I said noe a word to Lord Uhtred about ye, and I doubt that Finan did, either. Uhtred has his own mind and makes his own-"
Slamming her back against the wall with his hand around her throat, Grimmundr snarled, "Your Irish bastard has Lord Uhtred's ear! I saw them speaking after I laid you out in the mud!" His nostrils flared as he stared down at Faoladhean, his breaths in her face washing over her in hot, putrid clouds.
Faoladhean stiffened for a moment-the position she was in was far too close to traumatic memories that lurked at the edges of her mind, but she refused to acknowledge them in that moment; she knew she needed to stay present, or things could take a very dark turn. While speaking calmly to Grimmundr, she began trying to work the sgian dubh she had started carrying out of her bracer. The trick was to free it without him noticing. She tried to speak calmly, even with his hand pressing on her trachea, making her voice come out strained. "Grimmundr, Finan is the captain of the guard. He and Lord Uhtred often talk during training. It is part of his duty, and -"
He tightened his grip on her throat and leaned his face so close to hers their noses almost touched. "I said, you owe me."
"All right, Grimmundr. What do I owe ye? What would make this right for ye?" The calmness in her own voice impressed Faoladhean, who felt anything but as she struggled to loosen the hidden blade.
"You could start by taking my cock in that pretty mouth of yours, then let me stick it in whichever hole I choose after that."
A wave of revulsion washed over Faoladhean, but she schooled her features to remain stoic. She almost had the small knife worked free and into her palm. "Is that all?" she smirked, playing along and silently praying that this plan would work. "Aye, I can do that, but ye would have to let go of me first." She watched as Grimmundr's eyes widened, then he frowned, as if he hadn't considered that he wouldn't be able to keep her pinned in place if he wanted her mouth on him. He certainly is not a smart man. Stupidity can make a man more dangerous though, she thought as she focused on keeping herself calm and breathing even.
Narrowing his eyes at her, Grimmundr let go of her throat and stepped back, his hands falling to his trousers. Faoladhean felt the sgian dubh slide into her palm, and waited until he was looking at the laces on his trousers to make her move. Thrusting the point of the blade into his groin, she threw her left arm across his chest and shoved him against the opposite wall.
"I have stabbed a man here before for trying to force himself on me, and I am noe afraid to do it again, ye stupid bastard!" Faoladhean's voice came out a shrill hiss. Her eyes burned with fury as Grimmundr lifted his hands in surrender. "You being turned away from the lord's guard was no one's fault but yer own. If I ever see ye anywhere near me again, ye will regret it." Faoladhean shoved him harder against the wall to punctuate her threat.
The sound of the stable door opening startled them both. Withdrawing the knife from Grimmundr's groin, Faoladhean stepped back but kept the blade pointed at him. His face turned red, likely with rage, as he began to step sideways toward the door, eyes trained on her until he turned to walk out the door, brushing past the newly-arrived Sihtric, who shot her a concerned look.
"Are you all right?"
Faoladhean moved to put her back to the wall and slid down to sit with her knees up to her chest, feeling deflated and shaky as the adrenaline began to wear off. Sighing, she shook her head slightly. "I am...that man is," she looked at Sihtric as she paused. "I do noe trust him."
"Nor do I," he replied softly. "What was all of that?" He crouched down beside Faoladhean, worried tension around his eyes as he looked at her.
With a short, sharp laugh, Faoladhean shook her head again. "Bastard thinks it is mine and Finan's fault he was noe selected to join the guard, and said that I owed him." She looked Sihtric in the eye at that, and she saw the concern on his face shift to anger as he understood what that implied. She let out a shaky breath as her adrenaline suddenly crashed. "He...he had me by the throat," her voice dropped almost to a whisper, "just like Kjartan used to do." Scrubbing a hand over her face, she let her head rest against the wall for a few quiet moments.
Sihtric put a hand on her arm as a small comfort, but said nothing for a long moment, his nostrils flaring in anger as he looked her over. "He is a danger, and you need to speak to Uhtred so he can be dealt with appropriately." Sihtric stood and held his hand out to Faoladhean, who allowed him to pull her back to her feet.
"Aye, I know." Faoladhean sighed as she stooped over to grab the game she had dropped. "What brought ye in here? Heading out to scout?"
"No," replied Sihtric, "I saw you enter the gate and it seemed like it had been a while since you entered the stable and had not yet come out." He looked down as his feet shuffled on the straw-covered floor. "I guess it was a...a feeling that something was not right."
Faoladhean gave him a weak smile as she pulled him in for a quick hug. "I understand that, the feeling something is noe right." I understand that more than you'll ever know. "I learned to always trust that, even if it seems ridiculous. And thank you, for trusting it just now."
Sihtric nodded once, his face solemn. "Of course. Are you certain you are all right?"
"Shaken, maybe. But I am fine."
Nodding again, Sihtric gave her a half-smile. "So you will still be on the gate with me tomorrow night?"
"Aye, of course," Faoladhean smiled as she began to walk backward toward the door. "If I have to get stuck on overnight gate duty, I can think of no one else I would rather be stuck with than you."
With a scoff, Sihtric smiled in return as he followed her out of the stable. "Not even your big-headed betrothed?"
Faoladhean shrugged. "I see him every day. You, on the other hand, seem to be out scouting, or on patrol, or just generally elsewhere. Unless it's a meeting in the Hall, or at the tavern."
Sihtric grinned at her. "I will have to tell Finan that you miss me when I am gone on Uhtred's orders." He chuckled as he cast her a sideways glance.
"Ye do that, Sihtric, and neither of us will ever hear the end of it." Faoladhean giggled. "Ye ken it as well as I do."
They both laughed, Sihtric nudging her with his shoulder as they headed down the nearly-dark street toward the home she and Finan shared.
"He is not jealous, is he?"
With a soft huff through her nose, Faoladhean looked at the shy Dane and smiled. "No, I have seen nothing to hint that he is. He has no reason to be. I care for ye, Sihtric, as a friend. Finan knows that."
Sihtric smiled, though said nothing. He walked Faoladhean to her door, then threw his arm around her shoulders in a sideways hug. "I am glad you had Grimmundr handled, and even more relieved that you are unhurt."
"And I am glad ye followed that feeling. Thank you again, Sihtric. Things may not have ended so well for me if ye hadn't come in."
Sihtric nodded once and left toward his own home. Faoladhean took a deep breath before opening the door, feeling immediately reluctant to tell Finan of what occurred in the stables, but knowing she had to. She would tell him. Eventually.
Author's Note
dreich - cold, dreary, miserable (specifically relating to weather)
mac-na-galla - son-of-a-bitch
A chuisle mo chroí - Pulse of my heart/my heart's beloved
Mo fhíorghra (heer-graw) - my true love
mo shíorghra - my eternal love
sgian dubh - literally means hidden knife, it was traditionally carried in an armpit or boot
(I may have taken creative liberties with the placement)