When Uhtred met Cnut (The Last Kingdom 3x2)

Hmmmmm. Look at Alex.💕❤💕❤😍

Uhtred of Bebbanburg by Tatiana Arnor [x]

❤😍Amazing

Leofric buys the best Christmas gifts [x]

My heart!!!!!! Alexander Dreymon is going to do me in❤😱❤

Rescue Me (2/2)

Well, here is the vastly altered part 2 of this story! Sorry again for the deletion and I hope you enjoy the changes :)

You woke intermittently during the journey from the monastery, but the things you heard and felt passed over you like some strange dream: sitting on Uhtred’s horse, his arms around your waist from behind, the cool night air on your skin. No hallucination of Skade’s had ever gone this far.

Some time later, the pace of the horses slowed as a fortress loomed out of the night, torches glowing on the battlements. You passed through the gates and were surrounded by light and noise and faces, some familiar, others not. Uhtred dismounted first and then lifted you from the horse, carrying you into a nearby hut. Inside, two women with weathered, but kindly faces took over, changing your tattered, filthy clothes for clean ones, washing your stained, abraded skin with warm water and combing out the tangled mass that your hair had become. You felt like a doll, allowing yourself to be touched and moved according to their will, too exhausted and disoriented to find the energy to struggle.

When it was all over and your damp hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, one of the women led you to a bed in the corner. Though far from luxurious, it was softer than any other sleeping place you’d encountered over the past few months, and you sank into the sheets gratefully. Warm furs were pulled over you, and then the women left.

Though oblivion beckoned, the sound of voices outside the hut drew your attention, low and muffled as they were. One sounded like Father Beocca; the other belonged to Uhtred.

“The king will not like that you disobeyed his orders.”

“Bloodhair has been defeated, has he not? He will not be journeying north now, not for a while. And I have my wife back.”

“How is she?” Beocca asked.

There was a long pause before Uhtred replied. “I do not know.”

The older man sighed. “She is strong. She will recover, by God’s grace.”

You wished to hear more, but sleep won. Your eyes closed, and the rest of the conversation was lost to you.

“You are weak, Lady Ragnarsson.”

You barely heard Skade’s mocking voice as your stomach tightened again, intent on ridding itself of the poison poured down your throat only hours before. Tears blurred your vision, fingernails digging into the earth as you fought another onslaught of nausea.

Skadr crouched beside you, idly flipping one of her knives about in her hands. “Tell me. How is it that a warrior like Uhtred Ragnarsson comes to be wed to one as weak as you? Did you use magic to trick him into your bed?” She stroked your cheek and you flinched from the contact, stomach roiling with fear as much as sickness.

“Please,” you rasped out, humiliation at begging forcing colour into your cheeks. “No more…” It was the second time today you had found yourself curled up on the floor of Skade’s tent, retching as poison gripped you and hallucinations tore at your mind. Another time and you feared what precious little sanity remained to you would disappear entirely.

Skade watched you with detached curiosity and then put her knife away. “Count yourself fortunate. I don’t need you to die just yet.”

You loosed a shuddering breath as she retreated, relief replacing nausea.

“Do not worry, ‘Lady’ Ragnarsson,” Skade called over her shoulder lightly. “I will return. And you will see your husband die - as many times as I see fit, until my lord Sigurd makes it a reality.”

She sashayed out of the tent, and only when you were alone did you give way to the long-held sobs trapped inside you, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to comfort yourself.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes opened on a whimper, half expecting to see Skade hovering over you, a twisted smile on her face as she toyed with one of her daggers. But there was no Skade, only Uhtred.

He stroked the hair back from your face, caressed your cheek. “It was a dream,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, sobs trapped in your throat, shaking, unable to make a sound.

He lay down on the bed next to you, holding you close, and in spite of your fear that this was still just a dream, you tucked your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart luring you back from the edge of panic to sleep once more.

When you woke again, it was no longer night. Broad sunbeams shafted their way through the half-open shutters of the hut, while dust motes danced lazily in the air. Outside, you could hear footsteps and the sound of voices both male and female - Saxon, not Dane.

Your eyes travelled down to where Uhtred’s arm lay around your waist, then back up to his sleeping face. Scarred as it was, in this moment he looked almost boyish.

Tentatively, you reached a hand up and touched his cheek, wanting to believe more than anything that this was real.

His eyes flickered open, but he did not move, looking at you instead.

“You came for me,” you whispered. “I…It was not a dream, then? You are here?”

He brushed at your hair, leaned in closer. “I’m here,” he said softly, and tears rushed to your eyes once more.

“She–Skade said…”

“Skade is dead.” Though traces of sleep still lingered in his voice, an edge of certainty underlaid it. “Leave her where she is.”

You paused, breath catching. Dead. Skade was dead. She had died and Uhtred was alive. Everything she had said–had promised–had been a lie.

A small laugh found its way from your mouth. You did not realise you were crying as well until Uhtred brushed the tears from your cheeks.

You leaned against him once more, your head resting beneath his chin. “I want to go home.”

He kissed your forehead. “We will.”

~

Barely a week after your rescue, you left the burh at Aescengum for Coccham. As Beocca had foretold, Alfred was not happy about Uhtred’s attack on Bloodhair’s camp against his wishes, and had settled on temporary banishment as a way of punishment. Though you hoped for peace between your husband and the king once more, you felt some comfort at the knowledge that you would not be returning to Coccham alone.

The months that followed were long. Many was the time you woke in the night with tears on your cheeks; many were the times a random word or sight plunged you back into the memories of those long days in Bloodhair’s camp. But with each day that passed, the recollections faded, and you could feel the person you had used to be returning.

It was almost summer when Alfred sent word to Coccham again. Bloodhair had finally been located and the ealdormen of Wessex had been summoned to fight against him.

“You will go to Winchester, with Hild,” Uhtred said on the morning of his departure.

You nodded, kissed him long and deeply. “Come back soon.”

He smiled. “I promise.”

Almost three weeks later, the sound of the bells of Winchester ringing brought you and Hild running to the front steps of the palace as Alfred and his men rode through the gates of the city, victorious once more.

Uhtred waited until he had drawn close and then dismounted from his horse, grasping your hand to pull you close. “Did you miss me?”

You smiled up at him, your husband, alive and safe. “Very much.”

Tagging: @ceridwenofwales @pokeasleepingsmaug @whenimaunicorn @tiyetiye @laketaj24 @sifshoney @goldentailedmermaids @geekandbooknerd @therealcalicali @miss-lumiere @readsalot73, etc.

Rescue Me (2/?)

Here’s part 2! Things are rather AU in this story, as you’ll figure out soon, but I hope you enjoy anyway :)

Triggers for: torture and trauma in general

You woke intermittently during the journey from the monastery, but the things you heard and felt passed over you like some strange dream: sitting on Uhtred’s horse, his arms around your waist from behind, the cool night air on your skin. No hallucination of Skade’s had ever gone this far.

Some time later, the pace of the horses slowed as a fortress loomed out of the night, torches glowing on the battlements. You passed through the gates and were surrounded by light and noise and faces, some familiar, others not. Uhtred dismounted first and then lifted you from the horse, carrying you into a nearby hut. Inside, two women with weathered, but kindly faces took over, changing your tattered, filthy clothes for clean ones, washing your stained, abraded skin with warm water and combing out the tangled mass that your hair had become. You felt like a doll, allowing yourself to be touched and moved according to their will, too exhausted and disoriented to find the energy to struggle.

When it was all over and your damp hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, one of the women led you to a bed in the corner. Though far from luxurious, it was softer than any other sleeping place you’d encountered over the past few months, and you sank into the sheets gratefully. Warm furs were pulled over you, and then the women left.

Though oblivion beckoned, the sound of voices outside the hut drew your attention, low and muffled as they were. One sounded like Father Beocca; the other belonged to Uhtred.

“The king will not like that you disobeyed his orders.”

“Bloodhair has been defeated, has he not? He will not be journeying north now, not for a while. And I have my wife back.”

“How is she?” Beocca asked.

There was a long pause before Uhtred replied. “I do not know.”

The older man sighed. “She is strong. She will recover, by God’s grace.”

Another silence. Then Beocca spoke again. “What do you plan to do with the witch?”

Just like that, sleep fled. You held your breath, unwilling to believe your ears, yet wanting to hear Uhtred’s response.

Once more, it was long in coming. “She has value to Bloodhair. He will come for her eventually.”

Beocca said something else, but the words were lost to you over the frantic beating of your own heart.

Skade was alive. She was here. Dread closed your throat, siphoning all the air from your lungs. Suddenly, the hut disappeared, and you were no longer safe, but wrapped up in a nightmare.

“You are weak, Lady Ragnarsson.”

You barely heard Skade’s mocking voice as your stomach tightened again, intent on ridding itself of the poison poured down your throat only hours before. Tears blurred your vision, fingernails digging into the earth as you fought another onslaught of nausea.

Skadr crouched beside you, idly flipping one of her knives about in her hands. “Tell me. How is it that a warrior like Uhtred Ragnarsson comes to be wed to one as weak as you? Did you use magic to trick him into your bed?” She stroked your cheek and you flinched from the contact, stomach roiling with fear as much as sickness.

“Please,” you rasped out, humiliation at begging forcing colour into your cheeks. “No more…” It was the second time today you had found yourself curled up on the floor of Skade’s tent, retching as poison gripped you and hallucinations tore at your mind. Another time and you feared what precious little sanity remained to you would disappear entirely.

Skade watched you with detached curiosity and then put her knife away. “Count yourself fortunate. I don’t need you to die just yet.”

You loosed a shuddering breath as she retreated, relief replacing nausea.

“Do not worry, ‘Lady’ Ragnarsson,” Skade called over her shoulder lightly. “I will return. And you will see your husband die - as many times as I see fit, until my lord Sigurd makes it a reality.”

She sashayed out of the tent, and only when you were alone did you give way to the long-held sobs trapped inside you, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to comfort yourself.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes opened on a whimper, half expecting to see Skade hovering over you, a twisted smile on her face as she toyed with one of her daggers. But there was no Skade, only Uhtred.

He stroked the hair back from your face, caressed your cheek. “It was a dream,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, sobs trapped in your throat, shaking, unable to make a sound.

He lay down on the bed next to you, holding you close, and in spite of your fear that this was still just a dream, you tucked your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart luring you back from the edge of panic to sleep once more.

When you woke again, you were alone. Night had given place to day, broad sunbeams shafting their way through the half-opened shutters of the hut. Dust motes flickered and danced in the light, and outside you could hear footsteps and the sound of voices both male and female - Saxon, not Dane.

You sat up slowly, feeling the aches of your long confinement reverberate through you. Turning your head, you glanced at the place where Uhtred had been last night. The smell of him still lingered, painfully familiar and real. All of it was real: the rescue, coming here, his arms around you last night. The realisation brought a prick of tears and you closed your eyes against them.

The conversation between Uhtred and Beocca returned to you and you held yourself closer. If the rescue was real, then that meant Skade was here too. Here. In this camp.

Memories flashed before your eyes and you shook your head to banish them. “Safe.” You whispered the word into the air. “I am safe.” If Skade was here, it could only be as a prisoner. She could not harm you. And if Bloodhair came for her and you…

You set your mouth. You would kill yourself first.

~

You had slept enough to feel sufficient energy to get out of bed, so you did. There was a basin of water and a cloth in the corner of the hut and you washed your hands and face. Your bruised, discoloured wrists glared up at you, and you dropped your hands.

Safe.

The women who had helped wash you had left clothes as well: simple enough, but clean and comfortably warm against the winter chill. You got dressed and slipped on a heavy cloak and shoes, one object on your mind: to find Uhtred.

Tentatively, you stepped outside the hut, the glow of the winter sun causing you to blink against its brightness. When your eyes adjusted to the light, you took in your surroundings.

You were in a burh of some sort: a large fortress with high stone walls and a collection of thatch-roofed huts clustered  together inside. At the furthest end of the courtyard was a large building fashioned from wood with heavy double doors and a set of stone stairs leading up to it: the hall of the ealdorman who lived here. Various people passed you by: some inhabitants of the burh, others soldiers clad in mail and carrying weapons. Though most were unknown to you, you saw enough familiar faces to realise the burh was full of Wessex men. That meant Alfred was here, probably in the great hall at this moment.

But where was Uhtred?

You pulled up your hood and left the shadow of the porch. The mud, leftovers from the rain of the previous day, sucked at the hem of your gown, turning it and your shoes grey within seconds and providing footing that was less than secure. Still, you kept walking, eyes taking in everything around you while also searching for your husband.

Rounding a corner, you collided against something - someone solid, who let out a muffled grunt.

“I’m sorry–” The apology you began was abruptly cut off as the person you had run into raised their head, revealing features you had once thought never to see again.

Fear swallowed you whole, but a name still found its way past your lips.

“Sihtric?”

~

Tagging: @whenimaunicorn @pokeasleepingsmaug @ceridwenofwales @goldentailedmermaids @laketaj24 @readsalot73 @miss-lumiere @sifshoney @geekandbooknerd @therealcalicali, etc.

👀 There is too much uncertainty and tension. OMG! I don't know how "safe" reader is. I mean.....my God. Reader better get her hands on a weapon and stash it. A dagger, short sword or something.😬

Alexander.dreymon: Good Jul and happy holidays

Also:

Queen Ælswith has a crush on someone. 🤣🤣

😞😔😪 Not the ugly sweater on the hot guy trick. Go away Alex!!! You've ruined my peace of mind already. What more do you want from me?

The Coccham squad has amazing news! The Last Kingdom was renewed for season 4!!!

@pokeasleepingsmaug, @thewildbeauty, @tiyetiye, @burntmythroatskullingmytea, @captainpoopweinersoldier, @whenimaunicorn, @geekandbooknerd, @laketaj24, @cas-kingdom…

YES!!!!! I was waiting to hear the good news!! ❤

My Yule gift for the incredibly talented, sweet and creative @whenimaunicorn. Let’s be Danes for Yule. 

Summary: Skade and the Coccham squad are back to Uhtred’s domains and while Uhtred struggles between desire and hate, the Seer is determined to be part of his fate.  

Warnings: Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Spit Kink, Spitting, Hair-pulling, Face Slapping, Butt Slapping, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Fingering, Breathplay, Choking, dark!Uhtred…

Words: 2057

Rating: Explicit

It’s been a long time since I posted smut. Please, be kind. ;)

If it was not for the trembling monk that was constantly failing to disguise his stares, they would be completely alone. Uhtred had dispatched the half-Dane, the Christian priestesses who looked at her with disdain, and the Irishman alongside the monks that dared to invade Uhtred’s hall. If Skade was sure she had succeeded in bending the spirits to her will, Alfred would receive their severed heads as a message. But Uhtred was still not completely hers and so she should mind her time.

“Come to me, Uhtred Ragnarsson! Desire me! Be mine!” Skade whispered while grinning at the petrified monk that insisted on staying in Uhtred’s hall while the others were riding to Alfred’s domains.

It’s been so long since I had a warm heart in my hands. Maybe Uhtred will gift you to me.  

Osferth held his crucifix in his hands while his trembling lips recited a prayer. Skade threw her head back, laughing as if she could feel his heart beating with her fingertips just before slicing deep under his ribcage with her dagger. She would have to wait because they had company.

She didn’t need to look from over her shoulder to distinguish the approaching footsteps and grinned when a calloused hand squeezed her shoulder. His voice was harsh when he leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear, “I’ll swim in the lake!”

Skade didn’t have to ask if that was an invitation. She knew Uhtred would not openly confess his hunger for her. Not now. Not this Uhtred of Bebbanburg. She has seen the rebirth of Uhtred Ragnarsson as the most powerful ruler Saxons and Danes have ever seen. Not a frail ghost sitting on a throne and fearing a dead God, but a warrior King who would lead an ever-growing army and conquer as he pleased.

She warily watched as the corner of his mouth twitched when he pulled away from her and walked to the door. Skade could feel he blamed her for his wife’s death and nothing she could say would persuade Uhtred of the contrary. Skade didn’t mind feeding his hatred as long as she could control and direct it against the Saxons and soak the soil with their blood. Soon Uhtred would accept their paths were entwined.

Keep reading

YES!!!! More TLK❤

The Last Kingdom season three: Behind the scenes

These men!!!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Ragnar the Younger and Uhtred in The Last Kingdom Season Three [x]

Arnasfederman: I tell most of my jokes offscreen 🙄

Alexander Dreymon as Uhtred in The Last Kingdom

I simply adore Alex so much.

Emilycoxofficial: Dinner with my men. 💕

*Me showing up uninvited*

Were we doomed from the start?

Here is my contribution to Let’s be Danes: Opening Ceremony

I picked “You’re looking at me like… you’re disgusted. What did I do? Just tell me what I did, please!” for Uhtred and Mildrith, his first wife.

He fought his way out of Werhan to get back to her and their child. He had promised her he would, and an oath was not something he would consider breaking. His arms were aching not from the battle, but with longing to hold his wife and their newborn son.

When he finally entered his house, Uhtred was not furious because he found Oswald desecrating the bed. The same bed they conceived their child with the tenderness that has been slowly built. None of this mattered. In truth, Uhtred found quite amusing how his lazy servant seemed to believe the girl underneath him was squirming in pleasure rather than in disgust.

His wrath was like a living thing, eating him from inside while he stared at the empty cradle where his son should be waiting for him.

His fury controlled his body when he pinned Odda the Younger against the ground with a dagger to his throat. He couldn’t trust any of them when they said Mildrith and his son were safe. They had lied to him before and Uhtred doubted they would hesitate to do it again.    

A baby he has never seen but dreamed about. Leofric said the child was as ugly as his father but Uhtred doubted that was the case. He was sure his son would have none of his flaws.

Against Ravn’s advice, he had fought Ubba and defeated him. He was a son of Ragnar the Fearless and so Uhtred was determined to make his son proud of him. The battle of Cynuit was a Saxon victory because of him and his son would have a future because of the risk he embraced. He wouldn’t listen to Leofric and run as a faithful dog to Alfred’s feet to beg for a reward. His tired legs would carry him to Mildrith and their child.

Anyone would believe him to be a predator, hiding behind a tree and watching her walking through the forest. Would anyone believe he was in fact at her mercy? He imagined her heart was beating fast against her ribs as she turned, sensing there was someone lurking around.

Uhtred couldn’t wait to kiss the soft lips that were now shouting, “Who’s there?”

The smile that he saw lighting up her face was the reward he craved. The certainty she was waiting for him with as much eagerness as he was trying to reach her. And after all the danger and blood, Uhtred felt the sweetness of her kisses and the softness of her hands as she led him to meet his son for the first time.

Hands that were used to inflict pain and death were now holding something so small and fragile. As they listened to their small Uhtred’s hiccups, he promised Mildrith they would have a feast to celebrate their blessing. He didn’t care if it was a blessing from her God or his.  

Mildrith wanted him to believe her prayers kept him safe. She begged him to see her God was good, but Uhtred knew his sword brought him to her arms.

 Uhtred regretted yelling at his wife because even though her attempt to persuade him to have faith angered him, he could see she cared about him.

He tried to convince himself the way she was looking at him was only a sign of disappointment and that he would still have a chance to show her he was worthy of her affection and respect.

 Alfred’s words were still echoing in his head as he crawled his way to the palace with Aethelwold by his side, “you have broken my peace. You have broken the peace of Christ, and you have brought weapons into a sacred place.”

Couldn’t Alfred see the very weapon he seemed to despise was the reason he was still allowed to worship his God?

What should have been a victorious entrance in Winchester, was now a march of shame.  The people who should be shouting his name with gratitude were now mocking and throwing dirt on him. He tried to shield his face with his hands, but nothing could protect him from the way Mildrith stared at him. The repulsion that made her press her lips together was clear now.

He wouldn’t kiss a cross that represented a corrupted Church, and he wouldn’t allow his firstborn son to be almost drowned in water they claimed to be holy.

“My son will not be baptized. No priest will whisper lies and deceit into his ears and half-drown him in water.”

If there was a thing Uhtred appreciated about his wife was her inability to hide her thoughts and feelings and now he could see she was not only repulsed, she feared him.

 Only a fool would ignore the way she was slowing her pace not to ride by his side as they were heading home.

It seemed the Gods were mocking him for his betrayal for when they finally reached the farmstead, they surprised Oswald stealing as Uhtred has always suspected. Mildrith’s pleas fell on deaf ears and Uhtred allowed his horse to trample him. Now that his rage has been unleashed, Uhtred dismounted from his horse and buried his sword into Oswald’s belly. Some would see his action as a final act of mercy, others as a pagan lusting for blood. He didn’t care about what people would say. When he turned to look and Mildrith and saw the horror in her face, he knew she couldn’t accept or understand him and so they couldn’t have love.

He could shout at her: “You’re looking at me like… you’re disgusted. What did I do? Just tell me what I did, please!”, but he knew it was not something he did. It was who he was. He was not the man she wanted by her side.

It is clear that like me, the arseling here is guilty. Because of my own guilt, and because of my respect for Uhtred as a warrior, I request that he dies with my sword. My plea is for a fight to the death, lord. Me against the arseling. If God is with me, I will be the victor, and the eolderman is allowed to die as a warrior should.

“  i  have  seen  the  rebirth  of  uhtred  ragnarsson.  i  have  seen  fifty  men  become  five  hundred  and  then  five  thousand ,  with  more  joining  by  the  day.  and  i  have  seen  alfred  fall ,  at  last ,  and  uhtred  rise.  ”

#relationship goals

Romancing your woman in Viking style