I couldn’t agree more, love! We were all suffering from post hirst traumatic stress disorder as you, so wisely, pointed out. I’m glad I decided to give it a try, especially because of Emma and Canute. She has always been one of my favorite historical ladies and seeing an amazing portrayal of her in the show was definitely refreshing after suffering from terrible writing (especially for women).
Three women sat at a spindle. One decided present life, the other future, and the last held the events of the past. Each thread they wove ending and beginning life, determining fate, predicting what was to come. The great tree Yggdrasil stood tall behind them. A beacon of life and destiny. Future held one thread, weaving the string, until the end prevented her handiwork. Then Past took up the weave, adding a new thread, and connected it to what already existed.
~
Emma jolted awake, sending her glasses flying from where they had been perched on her book. A young man starred down at her; his face pinched in annoyance.
“Mam, I have to ask you to leave now.” She blinked through her grogginess, focusing on the clock at the far wall. Fifteen minutes past five o’clock. Damn it. Apparently, she had fallen asleep – long hours and the silence of the library lulling her into sweet oblivion.
From all corners of the castle and beyond the security of the wall, Emma could hear the preparations for battle being made. It was a sound she knew well, one of sharpening axes and hollering men, the loading of ships and the echo of hoofbeats against wooden docks, but rather than watch the organized chaos from the safety of her rooms, she stood solemnly in another’s, attention solely on the man in front of her.
They had known this was coming. There had been reports of unrest along the northern coast for weeks, attacks on villages by men under an unknown banner and with each communication the crown received, the more dire the situation appeared to be.
The final act that moved the King’s hand had been the overtaking and destruction of a scout ship that had been sent to survey the damage. The attack was one that Canute had taken personally and when word made it back that there were no known survivors, plans had been made and the call to arms announced.
@sweetrupturedlight sent me a one-word prompt (“care”) and then I got inspired by @naps4bats’s thoughts about Viking undercuts… ;)
She found the king in his chamber, struggling mightily.
A piece of cloth was draped over his shoulders and before him, on the table, was a basin of water, some of it already spilled over the side. In his hand was a bronze razor, patinaed with age, but no doubt sharp enough to cut through the most delicate of material with just the slightest pressure. It was not the razor, however, that troubled Emma, only the fact that he was holding it so close to his own ear, and at an awkward angle that seemed altogether dangerous.
“Are you in need of some help?” she asked, stepping closer to where he was seated. “Shall I call for Agnarr?”
As her husband’s chief huscarl, Agnarr was often tasked with aiding in his personal ministrations, which included the periodic cutting and shaving of his hair. Despite being married to one, Emma did not entirely understand the Viking proclivity for shaving parts of their heads, although she knew her husband took great pride in keeping with the customs of his people. If pressed, she would have admitted that she enjoyed both the look and the feel of it, the way it felt along her palms, prickling soft against her skin.
“I sent him to Gravesende early this morning with a message for my head shipbuilder. I do not expect him back until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“And you did not think to wait?”
Canute shrugged. “I imagined I could do it myself. It did not seem that difficult.”
Emma made her way to his side, her gaze skeptical. “You are a hairsbreadth away from cutting off your own ear.” With a small sigh, she held out her hand. “Let me.”
“You?” he asked, dark brows furrowing inward. “What do you know about shaving?”
“Enough to know that if I let you continue, you will likely bleed to death on this floor.” She leaned back, resting her hip against the table, and offered him an indulgent smile. “I will be careful, I promise.”
The look in her husband’s eyes was doubtful, but that did not stop him from dropping the razor into her open palm.
Dipping her fingers in the water, she wet the side of his head, then brought the razor just to the edge of his hairline. She had seen Agnarr do this enough times, at least in passing; how much of a challenge could it be? With a careful touch, she angled the blade and drew it across his skin, gratified to only see tiny slivers of black and silver hair along its edge rather than blood. As she wiped the razor along the draped cloth, it was clear how overgrown the sides and the back of his head had gotten—perhaps he had been right not to wait for Agnarr’s return.
Emma worked slowly, taking her time as she shaved near the tops of his ears and down along the nape of his neck. Her mind was entirely focused on the task before her, hands moving with care and precision. He tilted his head from time to time to give her better access, but otherwise remained still, clearly knowing the potential danger of the object in her hand.
A small clump of hair dropped onto his neck and she paused, leaning close to purse her lips and blow it away.
The king shifted in his seat, the first stray movement she had seen him make since she began.
“Is everything alright?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Only… this is very different from when Agnarr does it.”
“Is it?” Emma pressed her lips together to hide her growing smile, speaking with a voice both knowing and innocent. “How so?”
“He does not stand quite so close. I do not feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.”
From her position behind him, she leaned closer, her lips only a few inches from his ear. “I can stand further away if you wish.”
“I did not say that,” Canute said, swiveling his head to face her. His lips were parted, pupils wide and dark with need. Just from the way he was looking at her, fires catching in the depths of his gaze, she could feel her breath begin to quicken, blood stirring to life in her veins.
In most other circumstances, Emma would have been loath to leave a task unfinished before beginning something new. But there was no denying what she wanted at this moment—and what he clearly did as well. His eyes followed her as she circled around him, watching as she paused to carefully set the bronze razor down along the table.
As she lowered herself down into his lap, her hand reached to clasp the side of his head, just above his ear. His newly-shorn hair was a velvety burr against her fingertips, cropped short enough that Emma could feel the warmth of his skin underneath. Perhaps this was a duty she might relieve Agnarr of from time to time, she thought, lips curling with a secret smile as she pressed her mouth to his.
My second moodboard! For a…rural mountain AU? I’m intrigued by how their basic story/dynamic would play out in this kind of setting. I’m gonna write it.
