hope u all enjoy this, it's a bit of a different plot than what i've written before and honestly, i'm not sure what direction it's gonna go but i hope u all enjoy, thank u for reading and au revoir x
EDIT
so I called the OC Lyanna but honestly that doesn't sound Anglo Saxon enough?? so I googled it (because ironically Rosamund is actually an Anglo Saxon name) and renamed her Elisabeth instead cos it sounds more Anglo Saxon (and it literally is) but hey who knows I'm being indecisive so it may change so forgive any discrepancies thank u x
word count; 2260
Elisabeth
"Mother?" I whispered, watching her frantically rush about the room. "What are you doing? W-why are you packing? Are we leaving?"
As a child, I was filled with unnecessary questions. Of course, I didn't see them as unnecessary at the time, no, I felt all my questions should be answered there and then. My Mother, may the Lord keep her, had to keep me safe. I was a Princess of Northumbria and the Danes would come for us. For me.
It wasn't that they feared the throne. Their presence, their invasion of my home, it made the throne fundamentally defunct; it became more of a symbol more than an institution. My Father had ridden out to fight them but we knew he did not survive; frantic messengers returned to the palace with bloodstained clothes to tell of us of such an occurrence. And so, we ran. We ran like cowards.
I was but five at the time; a fragile child who knew nothing of the world outside her home. I had barely left the Palace and now I was being asked to go all the way south, to Wessex. I had heard the stories, it was true, but I had never thought I would go to such a place. The old maids used to say Wessex was the jewel of our shores, though my Father staunchly disagreed with them, and that the Kings there were of a great quality that no other man could match.
But, in reality, it was all a facade. These stories and tales were outdated and I would be met with a starkly different reality. One, a Prince who could not keep his breeches up, and another, a King's son who would never fulfil his role in society. It seemed ironic that these men, these two men of Wessex, would be pivotal to its future.
Nonetheless, I watched as my Mother tried to pack clothes and necessary things. Jewels, sheets, she even slipped in a small roll of bread — though that was arguably the most important.
"We don't have time for this, Mother!" My brother exclaimed. Two of my brothers had gone into battle and another had remained. He was but thirteen. Alas, we presumed the two with my Father had died at Eoferwic, and now, my youngest brother was heir to our throne. No, my Father was dead. He was the throne. He was the King.
Nevertheless, he was right. We didn't have time for this. It was only seconds after he had uttered those words that we heard the gates bang open, alerting us to unwelcome visitors. We had no doubt as to their identity. Mother shot me a look of fear and glanced at my brother. He was significantly more important than I; the future of both our line and our throne.
The fair-haired woman grabbed a sheet and pushed it on my brother, wrapping it around his body to hide his clothes. They were a giveaway to his identity but it wasn't that the Danes cared for. It was his wealth. All of it inherited, all of it now his. Mother and I wouldn't see a penny of it with my brother alive has thus we were useless to them. Even at that age, I understood it. I would always be seen as useless to the Danes. I had no wealth and my body had not yet formed. I was a girl. I wanted to remain but a girl. A life of youth that no man would intercede on, simply because they could not. But we all grew up. It would never be so but, alas, I would not face that reality. Not yet, anyway.
My brother would've too. But, in a short second, his body jolted with a hit. An arrow whizzed through the window by which he stood and he jolted forward, his eyes widening as he realised the implications of what was occurring. He had nothing to say. His final words were silence in the seconds before his body hit the ground, a thump that would haunt me for the rest of my days. And the blood, the thick, dark scarlet substance that spilt from his body. It travelled through the cracks in the stone floor and met my bare feet, reaching up and staining my white slip. Tainting it. Tainting me.
I wasn't quite the same girl after that day.
My Mother and I, at that moment, had not quite realised the implications of my brother's death, not then anyway. I was the Queen from that moment forth, with men to call on and a kingdom to rule. But I was five years old. I knew nothing of armies and ruling, only that my brother was our future. And he was gone.
Soon, my mother would be, too. In an attempt to escape the Danes, she had hurried us down the right wing of the Palace, my feet making small blood steps as I ran along. We had been betrayed; we realised that as soon as we found the cellar doors swinging open. We would have to go on foot, my Mother said. I could remember it clearly. All her words, her soft voice, her bright smile. I envied her. She always seemed so certain and self-assured of what would happen next. But she didn't see her death as the Danes approached, arrows whizzing at us like never before. And so, the last of my family was struck down.
With my parents and brothers gone, I turned to Wessex for help. To King Aethelred. They could not refuse me. They wouldn't refuse me. I had a God-given birthright and to turn me away was to turn God away. I may have been young but I knew that.
And so, I fled. God knows how I managed it, using men's loyalty to my Father and my family jewels to gain passage and food. I had the help of an old nursemaid, a kind Mercian woman who helped a child along her way. Thankfully, she was there most of my journey. In retrospect, I did not know how I survived that at such a young and innocent age. I suspect that my past had played a role; my brothers and I had played this game often; we would act as if I was some trapped slave and had to escape. We'd never thought it would be necessary, no, for my Father was a strong man. A strong King. But all men, even strong men, could die at the end of an axe.
And so, when I arrived in Winchester, it had been months since my Father's death. Danes attacked Mercia and I knew they would soon come to Wessex. But it was the only place I could go.
On first sight, I was a deflated five-year-old who hasn't washed in months and whose usually fair and soft hair had become set in the plaits her Mother had given her the day of the death. I hadn't taken them out, no, I refuse to do so until I was in safety. And I did so hope Wessex would be the safety my Mother promised, for where else would I go?
"Princess Elisabeth of Northumbria? Really?" The guardsmen scoffed. I had little to prove my identity other than my Mother's jewels, but not even that was concrete.
"Queen Elisabeth," I corrected with a frown. "My Father and brothers are dead. I am the last living child of the King." I said. Their response was interrupted by a familiar voice,
"That you are!"
I turned and met Father Beocca's eyes. And what kind eyes they were. We had met but a few times in my Father's hall as he delivered messages from the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg every so often and he was a kind man. Once, we had visited the Lord Uhtred and I had been so shocked at the fortress. I had been shocked to even see a beach, ironically, as just as I had turned five, but half a year earlier, and had never seen sand in my life.
"Father," I cried, finding myself pulled into a tight embrace. It was kind and gentle, something I hadn't experienced in months.
And so, Father Beocca took me into the Palace. He introduced me to King Aethelred and Prince Alfred and I was given all the care a Queen should want. All the care a five-year-old would need after previous events. And I was happy. I missed my home but I was happy in Winchester for the longest period.
For ten years men waited for me to grow. To become a woman. To become worthy of my Father's title, and so I did. At fifteen, I felt ready to assume my duty. I was the Queen of Northumbria and I would take back what was mine.
"Our Mother was from Northumbria," Alfred told me with a soft smile. "Judith, she was called. Daughter of Aelle," He was years older than me but took me into his care. He was a kind man, and his wife shared that quality. I remember when Aelswith would sit with me and eat, not out of duty to her husband but out of kindness to me. She was of Mercia and she knew the troubles faced by both our lands.
"Aelle is my grandfather, I believe," I nodded with a chuckle. "They say he went mad."
"Family trait," Alfred teased. He was kind to me as I grew, giving me lessons and allowing me to read with him. He was so, so kind. I would be grateful for it, forever, in truth. He taught me things only a King could, even if he wasn't of such station at the time. "We are cousins, then."
"It seems we are." I smiled. "Would you object to such a thing?"
"Not to your face," He winked in jest. The days where Alfred was a Prince were all the more relaxed in comparison to his kingly days. Alas, I preferred them.
But this particular day was a pivotal moment. Father Beocca entered the room,
"Lord? Lord!"
With an all too familiar face. Well, his face wasn't familiar, nor his voice, but he recognised me instantly.
"Princess Elisabeth?"
I turned to see what could only be likened to a Dane. He had long, dark hair and brooding eyes. He had small tufts of facial hair and clearly had an issue with growing it, but it would've been rude to comment on that... though I did later tease him about it.
"Queen Elisabeth," I corrected. "There is no heir to the Northumbrian throne but myself, is there not?"
"We met at Bebbanburg," He began, approaching me. Alfred stood on my left as the Dane moved towards me, his eyes fixated. "My Father was Lord Uhtred,"
"You know this man, Elisabeth?" Alfred questioned. I nodded slowly,
"Osbert?"
"It's Uhtred now, lady,"
I smiled and nodded, "You'd never have settled for anything less than first," I chuckled, feeling him pull me into a tight embrace. We were of each other's pasts. I pulled away from him and could not suppress my wide smile,
"I'm surprised you remember me at all, lady, you were so young,"
"I remember a superior and persistent little boy who wouldn't leave me alone," I jested. "It is so good to see someone who remembers that time. It... it was so long ago."
"Yes, lady," He nodded. I could see some small tears pricking in parts of his eye — clearly, he hadn't quite expected this to occur.
"Do you have plans to return to Northumbria?" I asked, fiddling with some paper from the table beside me. Uhtred once more nodded,
"Soon, lady. My Uncle has usurped Bebbanburg and I am going to take it back,"
"No matter the consequences?" Alfred asked, eyeing him with suspicion. Alfred had never liked Danes. I hadn't either, no, but Uhtred was no random Dane. God had seen fit to reunite us for some purpose, some idea. What we shared; Northumbria would be of great use. I had no doubt.
"It is mine, Lord! My Uncle is a usurper, he would've had me killed," Uhtred's voice raised a little and his tone grew sterner.
"I have no doubt that you will do so," I smiled. "Let us hope Northumbria is one day returned to the rightful owners."
"To the Christians?" The Danish girl who stood beside Uhtred snapped.
"To God's ordained rulers," I said sternly. "To those whose lands they truly are."
"The Danes will never just give it back," She shrugged. "They're not cowards."
"Then we will take it. For, is that not the way? I will take back my home with all the bloodshed necessary."
"Do you have an appetite for war, Elisabeth?" Alfred teased, with a small, breathy chuckle.
"I want my home back. All, or not at all."