Work Text:
No more Drama
The first time he sets eyes on her, he is lost. There's something about her. He'll get in trouble, though, if he approaches her. She's his best friend's cousin. Daughter of the Queen of Mercia. And he? Is but a rebel warrior, soon to be sent away to fight, to bleed, to die.
But she's always with him, there, at the edges of his conscience. Still. Maybe because death is his constant companion; any day could be his last. Maybe that's why he clings to the thought of her. Her soft skin, sweet breath, her silky golden hair. She may have long forgotten him. There are better suitors. More fitting ones. And what life could he even offer her?
But the hope refuses to be quenched that one day, he will see her again. Will be with her. And he lives for that moment.
…
The first time she sets eyes on him, she is lost. He's rugged and handsome. A warrior. So different than the boys she meets these days. He's also part of Lord Uhtred's crew, and that alone is thrilling enough. Besides, he's cousin Aethelstan's friend, so he can't be too bad, right?
Cynlaef, that's his name. She whispers it back into his ear when they—
Get rudely interrupted by her mother. Worse, Aethelflaed sends him away, punishes both him and Aelfwynn for what they can't help. Their feelings for each other. She wants to be angry, wants to stay angry. But then the world crumbles around her until nothing but shambles are left. Her mother, so strong, so beautiful, so powerful—gone from one moment to the next. Mercia—taken from her grasp before she's quite gotten used to the idea that she will indeed do as her mother asked and become queen in her stead. Suddenly, nothing is left. Not her mom, not the queendom. Not Cynlaef.
Just Aelfwynn and her heartache.
At least she has her grandmother, and Eadith.
Until she doesn't. Until all is but a horror, and she gets whisked off and away, ever deeper into this nightmare. Does Cynlaef even care? Remember her? Try to find her? Is he even still alive? Does it matter? She'll be dead soon, too. If only she could muster the strength to go through on her threat to Lord Aethelhelm and end things.
But then. A sliver of hope. The Scottish king, Constantin, is not the monster she envisioned. Maybe things won't have to end in shame and horror. He sees her heart belongs to someone else and doesn't tell her to let go of him. No, he understands.
They are still in Bebbanburg, and the tiny voice in her head can't help but whisper sweet words of hope and encouragement. This is Lord Uhtred's true home. Her mother told her as much. Lord Uhtred … who always looked out for her, for them. Maybe, just maybe, he'll find her here?
Days go by, blur to one before her eyes. Until someone comes to snatch her. A nun. A warrior.
Lord Uhtred and his men.
But not Cynlaef. He's gone, then. Has to be.
Outside, they're fighting. Men are dying. Her uncle is out there with his army. The Scots are winning. Does it matter when she's but accepted her fate either way? Becoming Constantin's wife isn't the worst fate. And yet …
When the fighting is over, and she is still alive, still whole, no longer to be wed off to the King of Scots, she's unprepared. She hasn't thought this far ahead. Isn't quite sure where to go from here. She's not alone, has her family, but it's not the same.
And then … her heart skips a beat. Two.
He's alive. He's here. But a hostage to the Scots. What if they torture him? Kill him?
And is that … his blood, or someone else's?
Her chest aches; everything within her screams.
But no. Hild assures her that battle hostages are meant to be traded, not killed. So, she watches with bated breath when Lord Uhtred brings out his own hostages as he meets King Constantin.
Alefwynn's hands clench into fists. A shudder escapes her.
He's right there, and yet so far. Doesn't even see her. He looks so weary. Battered. If only she could wrap her hands around him already. If only …
The men talk, bargain. Make a deal. Get ready to exchange their hostages. And when they do, Constantin's gaze meets hers. His eyes, do they flicker with recognition?
He's the one your heart belongs to? he seems to ask, and she nods. Bites her lip.
A smile plays across the King's features before he focuses on Uhtred yet again, and the business of men.
And then he's free, and she can't keep it together anymore. Dashes away, evading Hild. Races past everyone until she's with him.
"Cynlaef!"
"Lady Aelfwynn."
His smile is weak, but his arms are strong as they wrap around her, press her against his body. She doesn't mind the grime, the blood, doesn't mind the audience. All she wants is to kiss him, hold him—and so she does.
She can't put her feelings into words, but she doesn't have to. Not yet. This moment is not for talking. This moment is just for them.
…
Only much later do they finally get away from everything. Eadith insists they treat Cynlaef's battle wounds first. But Aelfwynn can be insistent, too.
"I can do it," she says, her voice firm, determined, even though Eadith frowns at her with doubt.
"Lady …"
"You've taught me well. I can do it."
"Well, then. I'll leave you two to it."
"Thanks, Eadith. For everything."
Eadith smiles, pats her shoulder. "Take care of him," she says, her smile widening when she adds, "And let him rest first …"
Heat flushes Aelfwynn's cheeks. She looks down. No need to pretend she didn't catch the meaning of Eadith's words.
Once she's alone with Cynlaef, her hands fidget. Can she really do this?
He sits on a cot in their tent, undoing his cuirass, his shirt, his stare a bit too empty for her liking, and she struts over to him, shoulders straight.
"Let me," she says, bolder than she thought she could be. It's been a while. They've both seen things … But when she starts dabbing at a cut in his arm, he grabs her wrist until she looks at him, blushing. "Cynlaef."
His gaze is ablaze. She can't look away, can't move … But he pulls her close and kisses her, continuing where they left off. Only this time, no one else is here, nothing to stop them, no one demanding decorum. Just …
Him and her.
His lips taste like copper, his tongue, too. His skin is grimy under her touch, but she doesn't mind. She wants him, with everything it entails. And now she finally gets to have him—and he, her.
As they let themselves fall onto the cot, limbs entangling, wounds—physical and emotional—forgotten for a while, they melt into each other. Let the drama wait outside for a bit.
It'll surely be back to catch up with them soon enough. Just, not now. Not yet.