A/N: I wrote this several years ago, it's based on a very, very minor character from the well known epic Beowulf. It's a short one-shot, originally written for an Lit class assignment. Let me know what you think. =)

The mead hall was full of rambunctious laughter and jeering as the many men drank and told stories of the day's battle. Women walked along the benches, distributing mead to the warriors. He sat at one of the tables, drinking his mead, locks of his hair as white as bleached bone falling before his eyes. The doors at the end of the hall swung open; the Queen entered as a gust of chilly evening air penetrated the hall. Eyes were cast downward, no one daring to look at her.

The man with the fair hair stayed on his bench, staring into his cup of mead. The low murmur of conversation was revived, growing yet again into the loud ruckus of men home from a battle. The Queen had taken her place and women were again pouring out the ale. Never were glances cast in the direction of Queen Modthryth.

The doors of the hall opened once more, admitting a gasping message runner. The boy went up to the Queen to relay the message. He had captured the attention of the crowd; as he approached Queen Modthryth's throne the hall went quiet. The boy had made the fatal mistake of glancing at his Queen instead of keeping his gaze towards the floor. The hall remained mute, each and every one of its warrior occupants thinking the same, that the poor boy must have never been in her presence before. No doubt he had previously been told to keep his eyes on the floor, but the boy had forgotten. The messenger was now at the Queen's mercy, fully due to his inability to follow directions.

Queen Modthryth's cold gaze remained on the boy at her feet as she signaled the nearest guard. She spoke with him quietly, all the while keeping her eyes on the messenger. "Speak," she commanded, "what is your message?"

"My Queen, your father asks me to tell you that a great warrior has landed on the shores of this nation, asking for your hand. He is at the entrance of the hall now." The boy spoke strongly, but his voice shook with fear.

"Let him enter," the Queen told the boy. The messenger rose quickly and made his way along the many tables to the hall's doors. He swung them open. On the other side stood no one. The boy rushed through the doors, looking side to side for the warrior who should be standing there. He entered the hall again, pale face staring at the Queen. Modthryth's young eyes flared with distrust and fury from some imagined insult*. She opened her mouth, preparing to give the command that the hall of warriors dreaded. The man with the fair hair rose, looking at Queen Modthryth defiantly and challengingly.

"No need to punish the boy. It is not a messenger's fault when the message is handed over to him too late. I've been here all the while," the man said. Queen Modthryth stood, the calmness of her face shattered. The hall was silent, waiting for her as though she was a judge sentencing a criminal. Her usually emotionless visage now showed a mix of surprise, fury, awe and curiosity. Brave Offa stood solidly in the middle of the hall.

The years had passed and the violent vengeance of Queen Modthryth had become a story of the past. She had been given away by her caring father to brave Offa, ferried to her young prince over dim seas. She graces the throne and has grown famous for her good deeds and conduct of life, her high devotion to the hero king who was the best king, it has been said, between the two seas or anywhere else on the face of the earth (line 1950).