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Finan cannot help himself.
The other men laugh and howl beside him, but under the hide of him a terrible feeling crawls in his chest, unseen, and he has no control of it. He’s jealous— seethingly envious— of a man he’s never met.
Uthred is drunk and coming down from a bout of laughter that every man but Finan shared and which nearly shook the nails from the alehouse boards with its collective force.
Uhtred chuckles a few more times, laughing at his own story, but his tone changes from amused to somber as he continues loud enough for everyone to hear, “Yes, we can agree—“ The crowd senses the shift of their lord’s mood and gradually settles into an attentive quiet. “We can all agree Leofric was a funny Saxon. His jokes make for good stories, but listen to me, men: Leofric was a great warrior. He was my great friend. He has my respect, and he should have yours as well. The tales you hear of him are to be told to your children so that his name may live on. We toast to lost comrades!”
In the roar of clamoring approval, Uthred raises his drink along with the rest of the men and puts it to his lips. Finan follows suit, but his ale tastes bitterer than it was before. He watches Uthred drain the cup and set it aside, his stare finding a fixed point somewhere far away.
His profile is striking in the contrast between darkness and flickering firelight. Finan wonders what it was that troubled him about the Saxon’s death so much. He has a burning desire to see and to know the dead man he spoke of — Leofric — but he‘s not quite sure if it’s to understand more of his lord’s past or to bash the dead bastard’s skull in.
Finan turns away from Uhtred and looks into the fire, feeling rotten to the core. His own jealousy surprises him. He never thought of himself as a particularly greedy man, but it’s hard for him to imagine some son of a bitch in his place as Uhtred’s right hand and confidant. He hates the thought.
The flames flash and fade, as they always do, but as he watches them, Finan feels a dreadful revelation sink like a stone in his stomach. He had deceived himself by ignoring his feelings for so long that this new understanding of himself leaves him stunned.
Months’ worth of overlooked temptations and out of place thoughts suddenly fall into sense. His devotion to and bond with Uhtred takes on a new meaning.
He shouldn’t be so surprised. Uhtred did not bring him here, but Finan stayed because of him. He wouldn’t leave him. They were bound, as he once said. Finan was bound to him.
After a long, brooding silence, he takes one last pull of ale. His thoughts have become too maudlin and he’ll have to evaluate his newfound feelings at a later, more sober time, he’s decided. He must find the way his bed. His head is spinning. As he clumsily pushes back his chair and moves to stand, he slams his drink to the wooden table harder than he intended, making ale slosh onto his hands. He is far drunker than he thought.
Startled from his reverie at the sound, Uhtred turns to him. Finan has to look away once he meets his eyes. He’s afraid he’ll take one look at him and know the truth.
“Finan,” he smiles, nodding his head to an empty seat next to him.
In all, it only must be five paces from him, but Finan walks to it like a guilty culprit to a hangman’s noose. He feels hopelessness starting to settle in his bones. It doesn't matter what he says or does. He can’t change the way he feels for him.
He takes the seat, feeling sick with guilt.
“Something is on your mind. Tell me,” Uhtred says.
“I’m thinking on Leofric, lord,” he replies truthfully, “It seems there was never a better man to walk this earth, the way you say it. I want to hear more about him.”
Uhtred sets his clever eyes on him, like he can see that he isn’t saying the half of it, but smiles indulgently and does not challenge him. “It is true. There were none better.”
Thankfully, someone has left his ale on their table, and Finan readily takes it. He will need it for this conversation. He takes a long drink before proding expectantly, “Go on, then.”
Uhtred smiles to himself, shaking his head and looking somewhere faraway, like he is trying to think of where to begin. “Leofric was Saxon through and through, but I think you would’ve liked him, Finan.”
I believe not, Finan thinks but does not say. Instead, he smirks and knocks his shoulder against Uhtred’s. “You said he was a fighter! Was he a swordsman? Was he big and tall? Scary?”
“Yes, he was big and tall. I learned some of my own sword-skill from him, but he needed me to teach him how Danes fight. He was Alfred’s man when I knew him and a great warrior.”
“So you said,” Finan cheeks, but his voice is gentle. Uhtred has taken on a mournful look about him. “To be honest, lord, all I can imagine from your description is Steapa fumbling about with a Dane’s shield.”
Uhtred gives a startled laugh at that, bright and clear, and Finan once again feels the rise of remorse in his chest. He tells himself that there is no hope in it. Uhtred smiles at him. There is no hope in it.
If Finan really wanted to detach, he would move his body away. He would end the conversation with a reasonable enough excuse and walk out of the alehouse. Instead, he frets over Uhtred’s every word. He hides his face in his cup or glances off in another direction, but his eyes, tellingly, always come back to Uhtred.
“Ah, Steapa. There is a little of Leofric in him. The Saxon, obviously, but he’s loyal, too, like Leofric was.” Uhtred’s countenance blackens further, and Finan can see clear the anger in it. “Alfred did replace him with Steapa.”
Feeling wrong-footed, Finan sits in silence with his friend for a long moment. There is something he wants to know. He is afraid to ask, and breaks the lasting quiet between them in an undertone. “And me, lord? Am I any different to you?”
At this, Uhtred’s eyes look at him with a burning intensity that is unlike him outside the battlefield or a bloody fight. “Do you insult me? Why would you ask this?” he demands in a hiss.
“What I am saying is that it seems you have made a replacement of me where Leofric once was.” He tries to keep the weight of it from his voice, but it is hard. He is drunk and tired and jealous.
“Finan,” Uhtred exhales. He leans back, and it is only then does Finan realize how close they had been; the world had seemed to close around them. Uhtred’s eyes are sad. “I wish you would not say such things. Leofric was never my man but was in Alfred’s service. No man could replace a friend as Leofric was to me. As you are to me now.”
It is a comfort to hear him say so, but he still looks careworn with his drawn face and his shoulders, under heavy furs, bent inward. Fondness gets the better of Finan.
A soft, genuine smile comes to his face. “It’s kind of you to say so. Shall we talk about your friend more, or would you rather I fuck off to my bed?”
Uhtred looks surprised at the question, but some of the weight, it seems, is lifted from him. His somber expression brightens and he resumes his usual proud bearing. “I would be happy to talk more of Leofric. That we do so has honor; he should be remembered.”
Finan nods in agreement, and begins, “You’ve spoken of him before. Twice, I remember. When the baby monk first came to us, you told us of his uncle. And again when you were sick and feverish, you dreamt he was with you.” Finan feels his heat drop at the memory of it. “I feared you were dying and could see the dead.”
“I did see him, but it was not really Leofric. The ghost was part of Skade’s curse. The gods sent him to torment me.”
If he were to be punished in a delirium, the Heavenly Father would send him Uhtred. If He truly wanted to hurt Finan, there is no doubt He would bring him macabre apparitions of the man sitting beside him.
What did it mean, then, that Uhtred saw unearthly visions of Leofric? Did he feel more for the Saxon than friendship?
Finan shoves the thoughts from his mind. He is here to help Uhtred, not to feed his jealous nature. “I am curious— how did you two come to be friends?”
...
The night goes on for many hours like this. Most of the other men have gone to their beds by the time Finan and Uhtred decide to find theirs. He can tell his spirits have lifted, but Finan, with a guilty twist in his gut, wants more.
He watches his friend search for his furs. It is their custom to sleep near each other, but he feels his weakness worsening by the minute. He makes his bed as quickly as possible, and turns his back to where Uhtred makes his.
The hopelessness in his bones has made itself known again. Finan makes his peace with it, because his feelings will not change. He’ll love Uhtred in silence, where there is no rejection. Where no one owns Uhtred but him.