the last kingdom ♡ oneshots

shieldmaiden | sigtryggr x oc

Many Danes lie dead on the battlefield at Tettenhall. Those that survive have no leader: Cnut’s body has been found in the woods, and Brida is missing. Eydís sits awake well into the night, for sleep does not have the decency to spare her from the memories of all that she has lost.

A rumour begins to swirl around their depleted camp that Brida has been enslaved by the Welsh, that Uhtred Ragnarson had been seen nearby, and suddenly Eydís feels a hot rush of anger towards the Dane-Slayer for letting it happen. She knows Brida will have wished for Valhalla, and he - despite all that he has suffered - did not fulfil that wish.

But there is little to be done. The Saxons have the victory, the numbers, and the Danes have neither. It is with a heavy heart that Eydís sends her prayers to the gods, even though she knows that recovering Brida will be close to impossible.

-

After months of bleak news, a report of Danes sighted in Wealas sends Eydís all but flying down to the kingdom with only a few men in tow. She doesn’t stop until she reaches Deheubarth, where she finally sees these Danes for herself.

The first to greet her is Brida, whose stomach is significantly rounder than when Eydís had seen her last. She is pathetically relieved to see that both Brida and her child appear to be as well as possible under the circumstances.

“I did not see you after the battle… I feared you hadn’t survived,” says Brida, drawing Eydís into a hug.

Eydís holds her tightly. “I was worried myself,” she weakly grins, although she sobers upon noticing the angry bruises marking Brida’s neck and wrists. “I hope you killed the bastards that did this to you.”

Brida smirks. “You arrived in time, then.”

Despite their warm reunion, guilt continues to eat away at Eydís. “I am sorry we didn’t come back for you. We wanted to, truly-”

“There was little you could have done,” Brida says. “I understand. Please don’t think that I’m angry with you, I could never be.”

Eydís knows she speaks the truth, but still tears well up in her eyes. “Forgive me-”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Brida assures her, embracing her regardless. “Now come,” she adds, wiping Eydís’ face with a smile.

She beckons Eydís into the great Welsh palace, although it has been all but desecrated. Several warriors sit idly chewing on the food scattered across tables, following them with her eyes. There is something strangely familiar about some of them, but Eydís cannot seem to put her finger on it.

“I came as soon as I heard talk of Danes here,” she admits, watching the men she brought sit alongside the others. Soon, they are talking and laughing as though they have known each other for longer than a few minutes, and the sight brings a smile to her face.

“Yes. They sailed over from Irland,” Brida says, giving her a knowing look, and at once Eydís’ head snaps up.

She had once counted herself as one of them, back before they moved across the sea. Her childhood spent in Irland is now little more than a memory, although one she often looks back on with a great deal of fondness.

To now be faced with it is something else entirely.

“Eydís,” a somewhat-familiar voice asks, “is that really you?”

His hair is longer, she thinks, and his voice has deepened. While such change is to be expected after a decade, it still manages to come as a shock to her.

“Indeed it is, Sigtryggr,” she answers finally. “You’ve grown.”

“While you have not,” he replies with a tinge of amusement, and she rolls her eyes.