Chapter 4: Teaghen

The first light of dawn spilled through the high windows of the castle, casting a soft golden glow across the stone floor. Teaghen stirred beneath the warmth of her blankets, the crisp morning air already creeping into her chambers. She blinked her blue eyes open, watching as the pale light danced on the walls, her mind slowly awakening.

Today, like most days, would begin early.

She sat up, her long blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, and pulled on her woolen gown. The soft blue fabric hugged her figure, finely woven and adorned with delicate embroidery along the sleeves and hem—a gift from her father, King Alfred of Wessex. The white fur cloak, lined with ermine, lay draped across the chair, and she wrapped it around herself, taking a moment to appreciate its warmth.

As the daughter of the king, Teaghen was used to a life of luxury, but it was not what she craved. She often preferred the quietude of the woods and fields outside the castle walls, where she could gather herbs and tend to her medicinal garden. It was a pastime passed down by her late mother, who had taught her the secrets of healing plants and their uses.

Teaghen stepped out of her chambers, her faithful dog Scruff trotting at her heels. The small, shaggy hound had been her companion since childhood, his loyalty unmatched. Waiting for her just outside the castle stables was her horse, Brock, a sturdy black mare with intelligent eyes. She ran a hand down Brock’s neck, murmuring softly to her.

“Come, Brock. We’ll be in the woods before the others are even awake.”

With Scruff leading the way, the three of them made their way through the castle gate and toward the market outside the walls. The morning air was crisp, biting at her cheeks, but Teaghen hardly noticed. Her thoughts were on the quiet woods ahead, the familiar paths where she would gather herbs for the apothecary.

The market was already beginning to stir as she passed through. Merchants set up their stalls, farmers brought in fresh produce, and villagers prepared for the day’s work. Though Teaghen was the daughter of the king, she moved through the crowd with an ease that came from familiarity. The people of Wessex knew her well, and she enjoyed the company of the common folk far more than the stiff courtiers who filled the castle halls.

As she strolled through the market, Brock following behind and Scruff darting ahead to sniff at the various scents, Teaghen paused at the baker’s stall, smiling at the scent of fresh bread.

“Good morning, Lady Teaghen!” the baker’s wife greeted, her hands dusted with flour. “Out early again?”

Teaghen smiled warmly. “Yes, I’m off to the woods. My stores of rosemary and thyme are running low.”

The baker’s wife chuckled. “Always working, even when you could be resting. The queen herself would be proud.”

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Teaghen’s heart twinged at the mention of her mother. “She taught me well,” she said softly, before bidding the woman farewell and continuing her walk.

As she neared the edge of the market, a voice called out to her. “Lady Teaghen! Wait!”

She turned to see one of the village women, Aldith, rushing toward her, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a basket of laundry. Teaghen’s brow furrowed with concern.

“What is it, Aldith?” she asked, stepping closer to the woman.

Aldith glanced around nervously, as if afraid someone might overhear. Her voice was low and urgent. “The Norsemen, my lady. They’ve been spotted off the coast. The fishermen saw their ships this morning.”

Teaghen’s heart skipped a beat. The Norsemen. The very name sent shivers down her spine. For years, tales of the Viking raiders had reached Wessex—stories of their brutality, their relentless hunger for conquest. Her father had warned her many times about the dangers they posed to the kingdom, but they had always seemed distant, like a storm that hovered on the horizon but never quite reached their shores.

But now… they were here.

“Are you certain?” Teaghen asked, her voice quiet but steady.

Aldith nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “Yes, my lady. They’ve landed near the village of Dunwich. The king’s soldiers are already preparing to march.”

Teaghen’s mind raced. The Norsemen had come to Wessex. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process the news. She had heard of the devastation they brought, of villages burned and people slaughtered. Fear began to curl in her stomach, but she forced herself to remain calm.

“I must speak to my father,” she said, her voice stronger now. “Thank you for telling me, Aldith. Go back to your family and stay safe.”

Aldith bobbed her head and hurried off, leaving Teaghen standing in the middle of the market, the world suddenly feeling much colder than it had just moments before.

She mounted Brock swiftly, pulling her white fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. Scruff barked and leapt at her side, sensing the tension in the air.

The castle loomed ahead, and for the first time in many years, Teaghen felt a pang of uncertainty. The Norsemen had come to Wessex, and she knew that her life, and the lives of those around her, were about to change in ways she could never have imagined.

Back inside the castle, the atmosphere was tense. The news of the Norsemen’s landing had spread like wildfire, and the halls were filled with the clatter of armor and the hurried steps of soldiers preparing for battle. Teaghen hurried through the corridors, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way to the great hall, where she knew her father would be.

King Alfred was standing at the head of the long table, speaking with his commanders. His face, usually so calm and composed, was drawn with concern. He looked up as Teaghen entered, his eyes softening slightly at the sight of her.

“Teaghen,” he said, his voice weary but affectionate. “You’ve heard the news, I assume.”

She nodded, stepping closer to him. “Aldith told me. The Norsemen have landed?”

King Alfred sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. “Yes. They’ve come to raid our shores. We’ve sent word to the surrounding villages to prepare, and I’ve already ordered our men to be ready to march.”

Teaghen’s stomach twisted with unease. “And what will you do?”

“We will fight,” he said simply, though his voice was heavy with the weight of his decision. “I cannot allow them to ravage our lands unchecked.”

Teaghen’s heart clenched at the thought of her father going into battle. She had seen the aftermath of war—the wounded men, the grief of the families left behind. And now, the threat was more real than ever.

“Father, what if…” Her voice faltered. “What if they are more than we can handle?”

King Alfred’s gaze hardened. “We will do what we must. We are not without strength, Teaghen. Wessex will not fall easily.”

Teaghen nodded, though her worry remained. She had seen the look in Aldith’s eyes—the fear that came with the mention of the Norsemen. And now, that fear had settled deep in her own heart.

But even as uncertainty gripped her, there was a spark of determination that flared within her. She would not stand idly by while her people suffered. Her mother had taught her to be strong, to care for those in need, and Teaghen would do just that.

“I’ll prepare the healing herbs and salves,” she said firmly. “If our men are to fight, I will make sure we are ready to tend to the wounded.”

King Alfred smiled softly, pride shining in his tired eyes. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

Teaghen returned the smile, though it did little to ease the knot of worry in her chest. With a nod to her father, she turned and left the great hall, her mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come.

The Norsemen were here.