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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 These stories and tales were outdated and I would be met with a starkly different reality.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.
