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Alfred is still as stone while he watches Uhtred make his way through the Witan. The king has not yet called the chamber to order for he finds these moments valuable. It is useful to him to know which ealdorman gravitate to each other, who speaks low, and who avoids his warlord. For surely that is who Uhtred is. When it comes to the Dane, Alfred has no illusions about his value, or his ferocity. Uhtred may not be named in the Chronicle, but his blood, and that of his enemies, has stained the pages since the ambitious young man first joined the pursuit of Alfred’s dream, that of England.
There is no trace of doubt in the king’s mind that Uhtred has retained that drive through all these years and that is mostly why Alfred has been so reluctant to release the warrior from his vow of service. When Uhtred is free to roam, Alfred is certain the walls of Bebbanburg will tremble and a new lord will sit in her Keep. Alfred knows he must secure Uhtred in the south, for in Northumbria he could make other kingdoms rise and fall, as well as bind them to his own. Uhtred Ragnarson is a dangerous man, his wife is correct in that.
As loathe as he is to admit it, for it causes him endless grief, Alfred admires the strength of Uhtred’s spirit. It reassures Alfred that he has placed his faith in the right place, so long as Uhtred is truly the king’s man. The worm of distrust Alfred holds in his heart for Uhtred pains him near physically, but he cannot deny it. For the Devil is weakness and if Uhtred is anything, he is temptation made flesh. Uhtred holds to the keys to Alfred’s kingdom in his hands and his reputation after outmaneuvering the brothers at Beamfleot is undeniably greater than ever. Alfred need only set Uhtred loose, trust the Dane to work his king’s will, and the fallen pieces that are the Saxon kingdoms will come together.
But that trust must not be granted, cannot be granted, for Uhtred is a temptation of another kind as well.
He stands with some of the Mercian ealdormen, looking bored, and his Irishman lurks at entrance to audience chamber with eyes riveted on his lord. The loyalty of Uhtred’s men has never surprised Alfred. Uhtred is a brave man who desires riches and glory and has the vision to make it so. Men can smell this on him and even the king’s personal guards, Leofric first, and now Steapa have been drawn to the Dane.
Alfred cannot pretend he isn’t drawn to the ealdorman of Coccham as well. He desires the power Uhtred represents, of course, but there is an indescribable feeling that rises in Alfred’s gut when he sees the other man walk into a room. It is a steady burn that flares when Uhtred speaks plainly and turns baleful eyes on the idiotic sycophants that often crowd the king’s court. Alfred did not understand it at first, flustered by the strength of his reaction, but he should have known it for what it was, for as a young man he was well versed in it.
Desire is the Devil’s weapon and it must be rooted out. The king has spent many days at prayer attempting to do just this, but has received only God’s silence and a persistent warmth in his veins in Uhtred’s presence, so Alfred pushes him away any way he can. Shackled, but distant, is how Alfred prefers Uhtred, for the good of the king’s mission and his sanity.
Here though, in the relative safety of the Witan, Alfred subtly tracks Uhtred’s movements through the room and the king need not worry about a stray desire to place his hand on Uhtred’s shoulder, to cup his cheek with a cool hand and feel the burning heat of Uhtred’s skin. For surely, the Dane would be molten to the touch. This thought is winds through Alfred’s brain lazily, brushing against the stored images of Uhtred that nestle in the deepest folds of his memory. This is where he keeps them, to only be visited in the light of day and the company of those for whom he is responsible, to do otherwise is to sink into temptation, to wallow in impossibly wicked fantasy.
Aelswith touches his arm lightly and the king turns to her, irrationally afraid for a moment that God has been whispering Alfred’s thoughts into her ear, but she gives a bare, albeit warm, smile to indicate the court’s readiness. With a single nod, the king turns and calls all to order.
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“Lord Uhtred.”
Alfred did not mean to call so loudly, but the disagreement in the Witan has vexed him. The Dane stays behind, motioning at his Irishman to go on before him. Finan hesitates for a moment, but in the end he filters out of the room slowly with the rest of the audience members. Aelswith departs as well and soon it is only the two of them, with Steapa watching over from the rear doors.
The impatience is clear on Uhtred’s face, but Alfred finds he enjoys needling the Dane, finding his weak spots and twisting the knife. It is the only way Alfred knows how to maintain control, to keep his balance. To know Uhtred intimately, but yet still create distance. It is a delicate dance and Alfred cautions himself to remember it as he leaves the dais to approach Uhtred.
It is summertime and Uhtred’s wife has woven his hair into a series of intricate braids that keep his hair away from his face, starkly revealing the striking lines and twisted scars that haunt his features. The king takes his time, deciphering Uhtred’s expression, searching for cracks, for treachery, but he only sees that same sense of tedium. Alfred is well used to Uhtred’s resentment and his contempt and in the dead of night, Alfred wonders why the Dane stands by the king’s cause. It is either a testament to Uhtred’s honour, or rightful condemnation of his role as a servant of the devil. A choice between absolutes should be simple, but Alfred struggles and that struggle breeds in his chest a similar, powerless resentment.
“It is customary to kneel when facing one’s king,” Alfred says, smooth words coating his tongue and the sharpness in Uhtred’s eyes glints dangerously, but he does kneel. Even if he does so at a snail’s pace.
Normally full of a restless energy, a vibration that one can feel merely standing close to the Dane, when Uhtred kneels at Alfred’s feet he is still and restrained by his anger and Alfred is grateful for Steapa’s watchful presence. For otherwise, Alfred may have chosen to kneel with Uhtred, to embrace that stillness and feel the intensity and passion that lies beneath it. The king folds his hands inside his sleeves to disguise their shaking.
“You may rise,” Alfred intones, turning his back to Uhtred and resuming his seat. It is from here Alfred can safely address the Dane. It is the space between them that saves Alfred and restores his calm. To wield one’s weapon effectively, one must have control. It is a space, a fissure, between them that must remain.