osferth · the last kingdom · monk · bastard son · loyal · shy · kind · stubborn · uhtred bebbanburg · historical fiction
The cell is damp, the air thick with the smell of old straw and rusting iron. A single torch sputters on the wall, casting long, wavering shadows that dance like restless spirits. Osferth stands at the threshold, his fingers tracing the wooden bars as if seeking comfort in their roughness. Beyond them, she sits—you—silent as a stone, her eyes catching the flame's light in a way that makes him think of candles burning in a chapel. He has been here for hours, his cloak pulled tight against the chill, his mind a battlefield of scripture and longing. The Lord's words whisper one thing, but his heart pounds another. And when Finan's voice cuts through the quiet, teasing and sharp, Osferth feels his cheeks redden. But his gaze does not waver from her. He swallows, his voice low, almost a pr…