Startling, Jack turned his head, shaking it a little as he met Robby's eyes. "Robby. I can't be what you want."
"You already are," Robby said, pressing a thumb to Jack's bottom lip, transfixed.
from @alethialia's fantastic fic an act of indignation. as you can see by the signature i did this a couple months ago, when that chapter came out and never posted it for some reason? either way here it is now. hands down my favorite canon compliant meeting fic. so well researched and executed! and this is def my favorite scene <3
Physical copies of Alethia 15 are now available! Click here to purchase.
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Yes! My on-ramp to this fandom was a friend sending me fic by Alethia so so I've been mostly lurking in Robby/Abbot corners currently. I also really loved Just Normal Colleague Things. Spooning on a Tuesday Night. by thatsfarce, which is about Robby & Abbot as qpps (though it takes them about 90k to call it that.) The second I finished it I went back and read it again. Safety Net also by thatsfarce was great (focused on Santos & Abbot, uh, not quite friendship) and Scenes from a Lavender Marriage by Siria (Santos & Whitaker get married for scholarship purposes.)
Mind the trigger warnings for all the above.
If anyone else has recs let me know: I'm not too picky, except that I don't really want to imagine Whitaker in any romantic or sexual context whatsoever, which actually eliminates...quite a bit lmao
Avant Garde in broad terms means something unique, and goes away from the norm. And that can't be futher more truthful than with the merduck's own half duck, half harp, all truth, hybrid!
Of course, Aletheia and Vero are here to show her off, but Fethry has also joined in as well. Still really wish he was in the "The Lost Harp of Mervana"... But regardless, they are more than excited to show the harp off!
notes: this is self-indulgent. this is also angsty, like, really angsty. it’s not even funny at this point. does it get better? maybe. but this is athelstan related, so it’s going to hurt. inspired by the fact that i love to put my oc into situations oh and also jack <33333. can be read as a standalone, but it might be a little confusing at the start :]
warnings: violence, age gaps, miscarriage, death, a lot of hurt and grief. no one starts out happy. ngl, i aged down athelstan bc i thought he was like 20 when he got kidnapped. he’s around 26 in this opposed to his regular 32 (??!!).
summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan.
tagged: @levithestripper @demon-of-the-ancient-world @leithdragon @grantairescurls (hesitantly tagging u for our shared love of athelstan)
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Alethia
Alethia watched as Brayden disappeared through the portal, his small figure swallowed by flickering-static air. Her eyes flickered over to Kinvara, who mumbled in High Valyrian under her breath, holding the portal open.
She wanted to go home. God, Alethia wanted to go home so badly. Jon was dead. Sansa had blackmailed her. The war was done, and she did not want to raise a child in Westeros. There was no need for her here.
“Can I go too?” Alethia asked quietly, looking to Kinvara. Suddenly, she was not the Dowager Queen of the North who was carrying the future King in the North inside of her. Suddenly, Alethia was fourteen again, alone and afraid at the edge of the world.
She wanted to go home. Her heart ached as she thought of Earth, where she’d firmly believed she hadn’t had a home. Alethia wanted to sneak out of school for lunch and buy something to eat from the deli two streets away. She wanted to go on holiday with her brother, spend the days lounging in the sun and swimming. She wanted to be anything but a governor for the North, a widow at just eighteen years old.
Barely visible, Kinvara nodded. The portal flickered again, and Alethia swallowed her fear. She was going home.
It took three big steps to cross the room, and another to walk through the portal.
Alethia closed her eyes and waited. The first thing she noticed was that it was cold. If she’d kept track correctly over the years, this would be around New Years Eve in New York. She was wearing Mereenese clothes. Still, she was afraid to open her eyes.
Instead, Alethia took a breath. The second thing she noticed was that the air did not smell like it would in a city, and certainly not in New York. It was then that she had to open her eyes and her heart dropped a little.
At first glance, this forest looked just like those in the Riverlands. Marshy, muddy grounds made her feet sink into the earth a little and fog danced on the horizon. And yet, instinctually, Alethia knew this was not Westeros.
She took a few more steps, a few more breaths, and then, it clicked. Alethia had lived in England, spent almost two years in London and her holidays South of it. A laugh ripped from her throat as she stretched her hands towards the sky. Thunder rolled in the distance, and almost as if it was divine destiny, rain began to fall onto her face. Alethia let it christen her.
Yes, this was England. She was home, on Earth.
Alethia spun in the forest, and now, she was truly fourteen again. She laughed almost maniacally, closing her eyes again as the rain ran down her face. God, she was home. She was home! She was going to see her little brother! She was going to go home, to New York, find Eric, and hug him so tightly that she would never let him go again.
She would apologize to her mother, for never understanding her sacrifice. She would hold her, thank her. And when she was done, she was going to figure out how to catch up on three and a half years of her life. Morgan was here too. She would help her.
The sun was gone, but one look at the moss on the trees was enough for Alethia to know where South was. All she needed to do was keep on walking in one direction, and she’d find humans. She remembered the skills Qhorin Halfhand had taught her, applying them in a way she never imagined she would.
The mud tugged on her boots, and the rain made her shiver, but in that moment, Alethia could not care. She was home, home, home. A hand brushed over her stomach. Her child was safe.
Alethia continued walking, right until the forest began to clear. And with it, the rain lessened. Half, Alethia tried to listen for the sounds of a road or even a highway, while the other half of her told her to fall into a jog to stay warm.
The sun rose over the sky as Alethia continued southbound, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach as no sign of civilization appeared on the horizon, not even transmission towers or fields.
By the time Alethia guessed it was midday, she finally saw something that almost made her cry with relief. In the distance, small cobblestone and straw-timbered houses dotted a coastline. And there, on a higher point of the coast, stood a taller building with one tall tower. As Alethia came closer, she saw that it was a church.
For three years, Alethia had seen nothing from her home. And now, the first thing she saw was a cross atop the high tower of the church. How ironic that she was not sure if God existed.
Alethia sat in the tall grass, knees drawn against her chest and arms resting atop of them as she looked at the church, the small houses on the coast. The landscape looked like it could be in Hampshire. Before she knew it, hot tears ran down her face, and Alethia swiped them away angrily.
The sudden ring of church bells pulled her from her inertia, and Alethia began walking, always walking, straight for the church. Fear was lodged in her throat as she approached the church. The doors were closed, but she could hear voices from inside, singing.
She waited, not sure how long, until the song had faded away and the doors to the church slowly opened. Her hands wrung together in front of her stomach, her traveling clothes suddenly feeling incredibly inadequate.
Good god, she didn’t even remotely know what the fashion was like now. She doubted it was still anything like it had been in 2020.
Her heart dropped as she saw the people that stood behind those church doors, dressed in long woolen dresses and tunics.
This was not the 21st century, that was for sure. Kinvara had royally, majestically fucked up, and Alethia was stuck in… historical England.
Almost, she screamed, before she caught herself. The people across from her only stared at Alethia with wide eyes, and she could not blame them. The sight of her had to be terrifying. A strange girl with a scarred face, rain-soaked hair and weird clothes - not exactly the sort of creature that seemed safe .
She raised her hands in surrender, a sign that Alethia knew was universally recognized - both in Westeros and on Earth. The people began to whisper amongst themselves until an older, heavy-set man pushed through the crowd.
Alethia recognized his garb. He was a priest, a catholic one if she was right.
Quickly, Alethia pushed a smile on her face.
“I’m Christian too.” she said. She didn’t even know if that was true.
The man’s brows creased together as he drew a cross over her body from where he stood. Alethia nodded, pointing to herself and mimicking his movements.
“Yeah, me too buddy.” she tried. “Come on, you speak English, right?”
No answer.
“Deutsch? Irgendwas muss doch gehen. Francais? S’il vous-plait, je suis fatiguée.” Alethia continued. Still, no reply. Then the man began speaking in what Alethia knew to be Latin. Well, at least she was definitely back on Earth.
She sighed, dropping her hands back to her side and waiting until the man was done. Internally, Alethia was ready to break down again. She tried to remember any sayings she knew in Latin, anything at all she could use to communicate with the man in front of her.
Instead, a few nuns stepped forward, cautiously approaching Alethia. She raised her hands again, trying to show them that she was no danger. She wasn’t doing a repeat of last time, where Eddard Stark had been the only thing between her and being burnt at the stake.
“Salve.” Alethia said very slowly. The nuns paused in their approach, looking to the priest.
He only stared, and Alethia took that as her sign to continue. “Alethia. England?” she asked slowly, pointing to herself and then the land. There was no reply, and she resorted back to her next-to-nothing knowledge of Latin.
“Rex?” she only asked, hoping that the priest would realise she was asking for the ruler of their kingdom.
“Ecbert Eahlmunding orgilde Wessex.” the priest replied.
Alethia pointed instinctually. She had no idea who this Ecbert was, and this was possibly the worst idea she’d ever had. “Ecbert! Take me to Ecbert!”
She’d survive this. She’d survived a torture session with Ramsay fucking Bolton.
Athelstan
He had given up on understanding anyone at the court of King Ecbert. With the monks, he had been able to pursue whatever he desired. With the Vikings, everyone always said exactly what they meant. But here…
Aethelwulf, Judith, Ecbert - they all looked at him differently, and he understood none of them. It was as if he did not speak their language, when he knew that languages was all he understood. That, and history.
Still, he walked alongside Ecbert as the King of Wessex spoke about a scroll Athelstan had just recently transcribed. And when a guard approached the king to whisper something in his ear, Ecbert’s predatory smile let him know that something was wrong.
“What is it?” Athelstan asked, cocking his head to the side.
“There is a fisher village near Southhampton, and it appears that they captured a Christian shieldmaiden.” Ecbert replied.
Athelstan snorted. “There are no Christian shieldmaidens.”
“We shall see about that.” Ecbert said, entering the courtyard of the villa. Aethelwulf was already there, with a garrison of guards surrounding the priest that entered the villa. Behind the priest was a group of ragged soldiers that were probably more fisher than fighter, closely grouped around a shadowed figure.
The Christian shieldmaiden, Athelstan assumed.
He watched as Ecbert stepped forward, quietly conversing witht eh priest and trying to get a look at the woman. Athelstan also watched as Ecbert failed in that, the king forced to step back with masked displeasure as he did not manage to catch even the slightest glimpse of the shieldmaiden.
He returned to Athelstan’s side, leaning over.
“She apparently appeared in front of the church’s doors right after service. How ominous.” Ecbert replied.
“If she was a shieldmaiden, she never would have let them capture her.” Athelstan replied stubbornly.
“What else can a woman wearing weapons be?” Ecbert asked, and for that, Athelstan had no answer.
Finally, the guards stepped aside, and as Athelstan saw the shieldmaiden, Ecbert had been right in his doubts. His first thought when he saw her was so this was what Lagertha looked like when she was young.
The woman looked around the yard, taking everything in with narrowed eyes. She kept her head high, staring at both Aethelwulf and Ecbert with an almost dangerous defiance only those of noble birth had.
“She’s certainly not a farmer.” Ecbert mumbled, voicing Athelstan’s thoughts out loud. The woman’s eyes snapped towards the sound of the king’s voice, meeting Athelstan’s eyes. He felt himself freeze under her gaze.
A scar tugged on her face, not unlike those of Rollo. She stared at him for a moment, and it felt as if she was mapping out his face. Then, she gave him a careful smile. Athelstan felt himself grow warm under her stare.
She was pretty, in the same way Lagertha was - in the same way all shieldmaidens were heedlessly, dangerously beautiful.
The woman addressed Athelstan in a foreign language, but her tone was enough to let him know that she was asking him for something. Help, he thought. The woman was afraid, though she did her very best to hide it.
“Do you know her language?” Ecbert said. Athelstan shook his head. Still, his eyes widened as he listened and realized the woman was switching between three languages he did not realize.
“She is well-educated.” he told Ecbert.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“That is not one, but three languages she is using to try and speak to us. And…” Athelstan trailed off. The languages sounded as if he was supposed to understand him. “They are like ours, but not exactly.”
“What do you mean?” Ecbert asked.
“They have the same sound as our languages. One of them sounds like Frankian. I think… some of the words are almost the same as in our languages. She keeps saying a word that sounds like the Norse word for ‘king’. I think she is looking for you.” Athelstan replied. Ecbert nodded, before he raised a hand to his chest.
“I am Ecbert.” he said to the woman. She paused, her brows scrunching together. Athelstan almost laughed as he realized the expression was like those Bjorn wore when he was angry.
“Alethia.” the woman replied. The name sounded almost Saxon. And then, she said it again. “Alethia Stahl.”
The words slipped from his tongue before he could stop them. “I am Athelstan.” he blurted out. Alethia smiled that same careful smile again and repeated her plea from before.
“I think she can help us.” Athelstan said, though he was not sure why.
“How so?” Ecbert asked.
“A Christian shieldmaiden? Imagine Earl Ragnar’s face.” Athelstan said simply. Ecbert smirked, before he nodded.
“She is your charge. Teach her our tongue.”
***
When a servant led her to the room Athelstan was waiting in, Alethia had changed into more Saxon clothes. He watched as she wrung her hands together and made a note in his mind.
“Athelstan.” he repeated, pointing to himself again. She nodded, stepping closer. Alethia was taller than him, if only by a little bit.
She said a few words in quick succession, and Athelstan could only stare at her confused. Her sigh was universal, though. Then, her eyes flickered down. Athelstan heard the sharp gasp she let out the moment she saw the scars on his hands.
What he did not expect was for her to grab his hands and turn the palms upwards, thumbs gently brushing over the scars.
“Jesus.” she said. So she was a Christian after all. Athelstan pulled his hands from hers as if she had burned them.
“Are you Christian?” he asked her, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, Alethia shrugged, adding a few quiet words. Athelstan was not sure how to begin teaching someone like her his language, so he began slowly.
She repeated the words after him, and Athelstan felt proud to discover that his pupil was fast at learning languages. After a few minutes, Alethia already understood the pronunciation. And when Athelstan grabbed a book from his table, telling her the word for it, her face lit up as if he was God and had just promised her salvation.
Excitedly, she pointed to the book and then herself. Athelstan found himself dumbfounded by her yet again, and he’d only known her for a few hours. Then, Alethia made a writing motion, and Athelstan snorted.
“You can write?” he asked, though it was rather pointless.
Alethia only shrugged, repeating the motion. She walked around the small room they were in, searching for something. Then, she made for the windowsill, where a bird had left its feather. She picked it up, repeating the motion and then pointing to herself.
“You can write?” Athelstan asked, and she nodded.
“You can write.” Alethia repeated clumsily.
“I can write.” Athelstan corrected, pointing to himself to show that this was a way to speak about your own person. Alethia nodded again.
“I can write.” she said slowly. And then, she waved the feather in his face.
“Feather.” Athelstan told her.
“Feather.” Alethia parroted. “Feather. I can write.”
Athelstan was not sure if he had been right about his initial thoughts of her. Maybe she was just a village idiot. Still, he gave her a proper quill, a scrap of parchment and ink.
His jaw almost dropped to the floor as the shieldmaiden dipped the quill into the ink with practiced ease, and wrote her name onto the piece of parchment. Then, beneath it, she wrote his name.
Though she had misspelled it, Athelstan could recognize it as his own. Behind it, she wrote ‘Ecbert’ and ‘Rex’ and ‘Deus’ and finally, she wrote a very clumsily spelled version of the word ‘feather’, following his pronunciation with latin letters.
Athelstan took the scrap from her, careful not to smudge the still-drying ink. He looked from it to Alethia and back at the words again, still unbelieving.
Alethia opened her mouth to say something, but then she quieted down again. Instead, she took Athelstan’s hands into her own again. His first instinct was to pull away. He found he could not, instead letting her fingers squeeze his. They were calloused, like those of Ragnar, of Lagertha. Like those of a warrior.
Athelstan wanted to shake his head at her. A shieldmaiden that believed in God and could read and write. And then, her eyes turned watery, and Athelstan panicked. Had he done something wrong?
Alethia pulled his hands forward, until they rested on her stomach. It was flat, so it took him a few moments to understand. Lagertha had done the same gesture to Ragnar when she’d been with child.
“Child?” Athelstan asked, nodding to her stomach, and Alethia repeated the word with a shaky voice. She raised a finger to her mouth, gently shushing. Athelstan nodded quickly, grabbing the cross around his neck.
“I promise.”
Alethia smiled again, quickly wiping her tears. “Promise.” she repeated. A few seconds later, the door to the small room opened, and Athelstan knew she’d heard the footsteps.
It was King Ecbert who stood in the doorway, a servant behind him. The servant walked towards Alethia, beckoning her forward. Alethia looked to Athelstan, unsure, and he nodded.
“Go with her.” he said calmly.
“Athelstan. Promise.” Alethia replied, and he nodded. When the door closed behind the two women, Saxon and stranger, Ecbert turned to Athelstan.
“Promise? When did that word come up?” he asked.
“She’s a fast learner.” Athelstan said instead. “And… there’s something wrong with her.”
“What do you mean? Is she insane?” Ecbert asked. Athelstan shook his head, handing Ecbert the scrap of parchment. The king had about the same reaction as Athelstan, laughing as his hand rubbed his beard.
“She can read and write. My late wife could not do that. My own son could barely learn the skills.” Ecbert observed.
“It will make the lessons go faster. She is a fast learner, and in such an environment - she may be able to communicate the very basics in a week.” Athelstan replied.
“She was smart enough to be brought to my villa.” Ecbert snorted. “The girl’s smarter than half my court if she could convince a village of idiots that she was not a witch.”
“Alethia told them she was a Christian, I think.” Athelstan replied.
“That naturally changes things.” Ecbert said sarcastically. “I am quite surprised they did not kill her.”
“Neither did you.” Athelstan pointed out.
“I don’t kill curiosities.” Ecbert shrugged. The words made Athelstan shudder. He did not like his king’s tone.
Alethia
Athelstan reminded her of Jon. She tried not to think about that as she flipped through the scrolls in front of her. She’d managed to slip away from the servant that had been assigned to her, and wander off into an abandoned library of sorts.
“Fuck.” she cursed as she unrolled yet another piece of parchment, and was met with the sight of latin words flowing together. Frustrated, she rolled it together, carefully putting the writing back in its place.
Alethia slipped into the next row of shelves, pulling out a massive tome. She paused as she saw the mosaic on the wall across from her, putting the book back in its place. A laugh escaped her as she carefully traced the Roman imagery. If this place had a mosaic like this that meant…
As a throat was cleared around her, Alethia whirled around. King Ecbert leaned against the shelves she’d just been sorting through, a grin on his face that said thought I’d find you here . Alethia did not like it.
Even though she could appreciate how dilfy he was.
“Romans, huh?” she said nervously, pointing to the mosaic behind her. The king’s eyebrows shot up. He said something she could not understand, waving the piece of parchment she’d written in front of her face.
“Yeah, I was kind of trying to find out what this place is about.” Alethia said, nodding to the books. “But the mosaic helped way more.”
“Mosaic.” Ecbert said, pointing to the wall, and Alethia nodded. She pointed to a figure that looked like an Athena-Minerva-esque woman, and said the name of the goddess.
“Minerva?” Ecbert asked.
“I’m guessing.” Alehtia shrugged, pointing to the next few figures and saying the names of the Gods she guessed belonged to them, sending a mental thank you to Rick Riordan. Something flashed behind Ecbert’s eyes as she listed them off, and Alethia suddenly realized that her knowledge was something this king would want.
She reminded herself of why she’d been so excited to see the mosaic.
“If Romans built this place, that means that it has a bath, right? I reek.” Alethia sighed. “Bath? Aqua? Laver? Je veux me laver.”
Ecbert took a few moments, before he nodded. His arm hooked into Alethia’s as he pulled her to his side. She ground her teeth against it, steeling herself so that she would not hit another king.
“Where’s Athelstan?” she asked.
“Bath.” Ecbert replied, mispronouncing her words. And indeed, when she stepped into the room, she saw that Athelstan was speaking with the servant, trying to calm her in a soothing voice.
“Sorry.” Alethia said apologetically as the servant turned to her, giving a careful shrug. The servant only shook her head, looking to Ecbert for approval before she stormed off. Alethia did not mind, hands dipping into the bath as she leaned over the edge. The water was warm and Alethia laughed again.
Quickly, she pulled her dress up to her kness, pulling off her boots before she dipped her feet into the water and sighed.
“What a nice bath you have, King Ecbert.” she snorted, looking over her shoulder. The king was eyeing her with that same predatory look as before, and Alethia quickly looked to Athelstan. When he said the word she assumed meant bath, she repeated it dutifully. Athelstan did not smile back at her, his eyes only flickering to her stomach, gaze full of worry.
