The Third Lost Tale of Mercia: Aydith the Aetheling by Jayden Woods Page A

“Norman filth! The Normans are friends to
the Danes! Have you forgotten, Father?!”
    “ Of course not, you foolish
child! These are matters you cannot understand.” Ethelred’s eyes
darted desperately around the room, seizing the first available
hearth companion he could find. “You, Hastings! Take her to her
room, and don’t let her leave your sight, for God’s
sake!”
    For the first time, Aydith understood the
extent of her own embarrassment. She looked around her, glimpsing
the smug faces leering and laughing at her, and she realized how
she must look to them. She was small and thin, any sturdiness of
her frame covered by the loose folds of her dress. She was eleven
years old, presuming to yell at her father, the king; and even
worse than that, she was a girl. To them she was nothing more than
a spoiled, childish girl.
    Her humiliation filled her up and petrified
her. The sobs still wanted to come out, but she restricted them,
her body shaking violently as a result. All the while, a man walked
forward to take her away. She recognized him vaguely as he came
closer, but it was hard to see anything clearly through the deluge
of her sorrow. His hands on her shoulders were large but gentle,
gripping her and guiding her away from the crowd. His touch was
surprisingly relaxing.
    “ There, there,” he said,
though a bit awkwardly, and patted her back.
    She bowed her head and sagged under his
fingers. What had she accomplished by making such a scene? Nothing.
What had she lost? A great deal. Her father would be more strict
from now on. The nobles would likely laugh at anything she said,
aetheling or not.
    Despite the gravity of these defeats, the
words of the witenagemot resumed echoing in her head, again and
again and again. Her anger trickled back into her veins, granting
her new strength. She remembered the way the wise men had spoken to
her father, especially that treacherous man Alfric, and how from
the start of the gathering to the finish they had all managed to
turn the truth on its head. At the beginning of the meeting, King
Ethelred had still been filled with resolve to launch yet another
attack on the Vikings, despite his many failures. By the end,
everyone had convinced him that he should try a more friendly
approach instead.
    When at last they reached her room, she
broke away from Hastings, storming in of her own will. She grabbed
the door and made to slam it, but he put his hand against it. Her
fierce brown gaze met his, blazing.
    As she stared at him, however, she found she
could not remain angry for long. He seemed a strong and noble man,
his face kind and devoid of the selfishness and deceitfulness of
almost everyone she met in the king’s court. In truth, she had
known Hastings for some time now, who had served the royal family
as a retainer ever since becoming a man at the age of twelve, she
suspected. Though she had always seen him about, she had never
thought of him much, beyond pondering his somewhat large chin on an
otherwise box-shaped face. His eyes were so soft and unassuming,
his demeanor so quiet and graceful, that his presence was easy to
take for granted. He had shiny brown hair that barely fell below
his ears, and a close-cut beard that helped cover the largeness of
his chin. This close, she thought the beard looked very soft to the
touch.
    “ My lady,” he said, looking
somewhat abashed, then cleared his throat. “I’m to watch over
you.”
    She lifted her chin high, but removed her
hand from the door, and went inside.
    Two of her ladies already loitered within
her chamber, having abandoned their weaving work to whisper to each
other and giggle next to the brazier. At the sight of Aydith
entering with a red, swollen face and a soldierly companion, they
hushed immediately and straightened their postures.
    Aydith glared at them. She already disliked
the maids, but now she disliked them even more, for they had been
talking about her older brother Aethelstan and blushing like