Work Text:
In the hours after the contentious meeting between Mercia and Wessex, and before Lord Ceowulf's body has grown cold, Lady Aelswith retreats into the chapel to read the letter containing an important name. She feels guilt, certainly, for keeping this from her husband; a wise king, to be sure - but this is the errand of a mother, and on that battlefield he is unaware of the methods of victory.
Her hands shake, though she does not know why. It is a sensation one experiences when one's spirit recognizes immutable and prophetic change; that the world will shift, and even the bones of the earth will sing for the Wyrd of them all. This is one of those moments. Aelswith takes a shuddering breath, her eyes poring over the elder-lord's words with a starved, desperate hunger.
Lady Aelswith,
It is not without great consideration (consideration I can only wish King Alfred imparted upon Mercia's plight) that I write this letter. For on one hand, I am the lord and protector of Mercia - aged and admittedly impotent though I may be - until I am welcomed into the hosts of angels in heaven. I am not desirous of additional diplomatic conflicts with Wessex, and it may surprise you that I am not dismissive nor spiteful of Alfred's kingship. In point of fact, I am wholly in favor of one England; though I would like to have lived to see its unification with Mercia as its neck if not its head.
Your letter requested a stud to further the union of Wessex and Mercia. I will not address it with couth it scarcely deserves, for if Alfred desires this unification, a man of my years knows it must happen physically concurrent to the politics of the matter. I know of one such man, but his name can scarcely be written without a word of caution.
He fancies himself a king, even now; even as he is only my nephew. My heir, as you know, was killed by Danes. Killed by men Uhtred then killed, and you can trust that Wessex is not in my debt as Uhtred paid the wergild in blood. Aethelred the Pretty has paid only in thinly-shrouded ambition; his assistance comes with a portion of ungodly vanity, of unwavering pride. He is cunning, to be sure, but it does not work for the benefit of Wessex nor your fair Aethelflaed. To be frank, my Lady, he will stop at nothing; and have we not had our fill of Mercian men whose delusions outstretched their practicality; their usefulness? Aethelred has neither practical thought nor useful contribution beyond puppetry, but he remains a valuable puppet all the same. Guide the strings, tighten them, and he will have a use yet.
He will be a worthy tool. He shall possess a remarkable hearth guard and fyrd, which will be passed to him upon my death. Dispatching them appropriately will be a difficult task on his own, but with Aethelflaed (who is as intelligent as she is fair), will prove advantageous to both our lands.
As to the matter of studding, he is regrettably not virile. Contend with this salacious and little-known fact at your own discretion, though young Aethelflaed can, as any woman, prove cunning in rectifying that matter unawares. Any heir she produces will remain of both Wessex and Mercia through Your Ladyship and King Alfred, so nothing will be lost in the doing of it. It is best to stamp out the embers that remain of my disappointing line, and allow a new sapling to spring forth. I do not wish Aethelred's seed, and nor should you; though you may not understand now, you will in short order.
And now you have your name, and now you have your map. Guide young Aethelflaed with the intellect and foresight of a proud Mercian, and your king's England will prevail.
In your service ever,
Lord Ceowulf of Mercia
Aelswith sighs, folding the parchment in half with a too-precise crease. Alfred will never read this letter, and he trusts his wife completely. She will use this to her advantage.
Of course, the matter of Uhtred's inadvertent service to Mercia will need tooling, as he cannot be considered an honorable vassal to both countries; not yet, in any regard, but someday. Perhaps. He remains a heathen, after all; but even Aelswith can now see how he will be useful in the future.
Aethelred's lack of seed will not be troublesome. Aelswith promises herself that, when the time comes, she will offer counsel to her daughter that only another woman can. Let that burden pass by men of war and conquest; they have troubles of their own, but in this Aelswith can be just as cunning.
Yes; Aethelred will be fine enough.
She rises, quiet in her triumph and tranquil in the knowledge of what she must do.
England will emerge, and God will be praised.