Osferth had been wary of you at first. A seer, a woman who spoke of fate and omens—it unsettled him. He had been taught that such things were dangerous, that they led men astray. So, he kept his distance, watching you with quiet hesitation.

But then, things had shifted.

It was after a battle, one that left him bleeding and unsteady, his hand pressed to his ribs where a blade had nearly found its mark. You had approached without hesitation, kneeling beside him, ignoring the way his breath hitched as you reached for him.

“Let me help you,” you murmured, voice softer than usual.

After that, the fear was gone, replaced by something else, something softer, something devoted.

Now, Osferth was always near you. Not just in battle, where he kept a watchful eye, but in the quiet nights by the fire, the long rides where he’d steal glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice. He protected you like it was his purpose, like you were something precious.

He thought he was subtle. He wasn’t.

The others noticed, Finan most of all, always teasing the two of you. “Just admit it, boy, You follow her like a lost pup. At least let her give you a proper collar.” — or — “Why don’t you just kiss him and put the poor bastard out of his misery?.”

But Osferth never took the bait. He simply shook his head, muttering that you had no interest in him, that you were far too mysterious in your ways to care for someone like him.

And you? You never corrected him. Never told him how much you noticed, how much you liked the way he hovered protectively, the way he looked at you like you weren’t something to be feared, but something worth keeping safe.