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Athelstan glanced over his shoulder and saw Ragnar. “I’ll be done in a moment,” he said, with a smile.
“Turn around.”
Athelstan obeyed, lowering his arms.
“You did not tell me,” Ragnar said, eyes on Athelstan’s chest.
“I didn’t think it necessary.”
Ragnar gently laid fingers on his ribs, atop the bruise there. It was only one of many, but it wrapped around to his back in a girdle of black and red. Ragnar touched another on his shoulder, a fading, yellowish one on his arm, then lifted Athelstan’s own hand in his to study the battered knuckles.
“We have oils, unguents, that can help,” Ragnar offered.
“I have to be able to do the things you need me to do,” Athelstan answered. “I have to be able to fight and row, run and ride, and all despite my pain. I know this. I accept it.”
Ragnar…winced.
Athelstan stared, bemused. “You’re a puzzle, sometimes.”
“It’s no puzzle,” Ragnar said, letting his hand fall. “I know these things but I do not…I have no wish…” He stopped and pursed his lips. “I don’t like it.”
Athelstan chuckled, good-naturedly. “I couldn’t tell.”
Ragnar took the dripping rag and turned him away once more. “I don’t like seeing this,” the man said, washing his back.
“I can finish…” Athelstan started to reach for the cloth again but Ragnar stopped him.
“I don’t like knowing I did it.” Ragnar’s voice was soft.
Athelstan was still while he was cleaned. When Ragnar was done he turned his head. Their eyes met. “I would rather it be you.”
Ragnar sighed and tugged on the hair at his nape, then soothed the sting with his fingers. “You’ll regret telling me that.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Athelstan said, with a smile.