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“Athelstan. Wake up. Wake up, little man.”
“Nnnh.”
Ragnar sprawls a little more on Athelstan’s back, bringing his mouth closer to his ear. He taps his fingers on Athelstan’s bare shoulders, scrutinizing his face with a grin.
“Wake up,” Ragnar whispers, this time nuzzling Athelstan’s jaw.
He keeps his eyes trained on Athelstan’s face, half-buried under a pillow. He is awake, judging from the smile tugging at the corner of mouth. Ragnar pushes some curls out of his way and catches Athelstan’s earlobe between his teeth, makes it roll under his tongue.
“Wake uuuuup,” he sing-songs directly into Athelstan’s ear.
“Need more motivation,” Athelstan slurs.
Ragnar laughs, straining his neck to plant a soft kiss on Athelstan’s eyelid. He doesn’t remove his mouth right away, not before he can enjoy the flutter of eyelashes on his skin. Ragnar drops another kiss, not really controlling where it lands –on an eyebrow perhaps. At last, big blue eyes stare back at him, sleepy and caring. Ragnar’s heartbeat quickens, no matter how much he is used to that sight.
“I love you,” he blurts out, still amazed by how these words sound in his mouth.
None of them is used to saying or hearing these words, not yet. Athelstan even sports the same expression as when Ragnar told him the first time: some surprise, sweetened by happiness.
They stare at each other. Athelstan smiles, and comforting warmth washes over Ragnar.
***
Ragnar jerks awake, hand reaching out instinctively. Unlike what he hoped, his fingers don’t meet tender skin. Only clench on the hard wood of the ship’s rail. Ragnar stares at them for a while, hypnotized by the way his knuckles turn white as he clenches his hand tighter. Then awareness kicks in and he remembers being on the boat. Without Athelstan.
Athelstan hasn’t been with him for a long time.
Ragnar sighs, casting a look around the deck. Most of his men are rowing, with all the energy the perspective of reaching Paris inspires them. Ragnar catches Lagertha staring at him, yet she ducks her head as soon as their eyes meet. She looks like she wants to talk to him, like she has something important to say. Except they don’t talk much anymore outside of the moments they plan the raid. In truth, Ragnar doesn’t really talk with anyone these days. Doesn’t really care about what they have to say either.
“Bad dream?” Floki asks from where he is sitting, not far from Ragnar. Too close.
Ragnar’s gaze drifts to the shipbuilder’s hands, tracks the movement of his fingers sharpening his axe.
“No,” he replies, turning his head away and towards the sea. “Memories.”
Ragnar can feel Floki’s heavy stare burning his back, as if he were waiting for Ragnar to elaborate. He won’t. These memories are the only purity left in Ragnar’s life. He certainly won’t share them with Floki.
***
Athelstan often comes to him in his dreams. Most of the time, Ragnar relives old memories but since they reached Paris, it is different. Memories fade, leaving more room for actual dreams. If they are dreams –Ragnar can’t be sure, everything seems so real. At least, now his nights provide him some relief.
***
Ragnar walks through the woods with the weird feeling that he has no idea where he’s heading, but his feet find the right way nonetheless. Turn left, step over that stream, climb the slope.
He sees the waterfall first. It makes his eyes burn with unshed tears.
Ragnar shifts to turn back, leave the place. He can’t be here yet. However, movement catches his attention; a flutter of black wings maybe. Or was it dark curls ruffled by the wind? Ragnar doesn’t think twice, he swirls on his heels, checking the place frantically. It was there! He did see something.
Yes. Athelstan is here, sitting cross-legged on the grass. Right where he taught his prayers to Ragnar so long ago. He seems… alive. Happy. Ragnar didn’t see it immediately, but Athelstan has a raven perched on his shoulder. He is talking to it while he strokes the inky feathers. As Ragnar approaches, he almost regrets disturbing such peace. Yet it has been so long since...
When Ragnar is close enough, a little more than arm reach, Athelstan looks up with a serene smile. He doesn’t seem surprised by Ragnar’s presence.
“Do you remember this little guy?” Athelstan asks, as natural as if they had parted yesterday. “It is the raven who came to me when I was in Wessex. The one which told me you were coming back.”
Ragnar swallows, hard. He can’t burst into tears now.
“Why has it come to you today?” he manages.
The bird nips at Athelstan’s fingers with its sharp beak, making him chuckle.
“To say you wanted to see me,” Athelstan replies once he has stopped laughing.
Ragnar crosses the distance between them with two steps, dropping on his knees in front of Athelstan. The raven doesn’t move an inch, even when Ragnar raises his hand to stroke Athelstan’s head. No ugly gash marring his skin this time.
“I needed you before,” Ragnar retorts, trying and failing to keep the reproach out of his voice. “Why now?”
Guilt momentarily clouds Athelstan’s eyes. He leans into Ragnar’s palm, covering his hand with his own.
“I… I couldn’t. I was afraid.”
“But I missed you!” Ragnar exclaims. “I miss you all the time. Only when I dream, I can finally…”
His words die in his throat. If he speaks again, he won’t be able to contain his sobs. Just watching Athelstan is too much. Ragnar closes his eyes, hoping it will be enough but no, a tear rolls down his cheek anyway. Before he can wipe it away, Athelstan shifts closer, pressing their foreheads together.
“That’s why I am afraid,” Athelstan whispers. “I am afraid of the path you’re taking, Ragnar. I fear that if I come to you, it will only make things worse.”
“How could that be possible? I’m surrounded by people I don’t want to see. People I can’t trust.” Ragnar draws back, locking eyes with Athelstan. “I need you.”
Athelstan’s smile is incredibly sad.
“That’s the point. The others aren’t your enemies, Ragnar.”
Something snaps in him, too strong to be contained. Ragnar tears his hand away from Athelstan’s head, from the gentle stroke of Athelstan’s thumb upon his skin. He grips his shoulders, shaking him more roughly than he intended to.
“Are you so sure?” Ragnar exclaims. “Who killed you, Athelstan?”
He punctuates his words with another shake. The raven flies away with an angry croak, and Athelstan turns his head aside, refusing to meet Ragnar’s eyes.
“I can’t tell you. You don’t need to know.”
“Yes, I do! Who murdered you?”
Athelstan shakes his head, again and again, and Ragnar shouldn’t be screaming, he knows.
“You should be here with me! Athelstan! Tell me who took you away from me!”
“No!”
Athelstan’s voice mixes with another cry from the raven, and he vanishes between Ragnar’s hands.
***
When Ragnar wakes up, his cheeks are soaked with tears. He snaps at everyone that day.
***
The point is, Ragnar knows who did it. Deep down, he has always known, although some part of him didn’t want to acknowledge that fact.
Floki used to be a dear friend, after all.
A dear friend who is a little too happy since Athelstan died. He may have hidden it at the beginning, but now it is obvious. Besides, the shipbuilder doesn’t bother Ragnar with the Christians anymore. That alone makes him suspicious. All he needs is a confirmation.
***
“I’m sorry. About last time.”
Athelstan is playing with his raven again, as relaxed as the first time. His face doesn’t show a single hint of anger or annoyance. The bird, however, lets out a string of raspy sounds when Ragnar crouches down next to them.
“Shh,” Athelstan says, stroking its neck. “Everything is fine.”
Ragnar isn’t sure who Athelstan is talking to, but it doesn’t matter. A second later, Athelstan grabs his hand and tugs him to his side. They still fit perfectly, Athelstan’s head cradled under Ragnar’s jaw.
“It was wrong of me to act like this,” Ragnar insists. “I was so angry…”
“You still are,” Athelstan points out.
“I will always be, until I join you.”
Athelstan shivers, curling up in Ragnar’s arms. When Ragnar looks down, the raven is eyeing him intently.
“I don’t want you to join me yet. You have too much left to do.”
That’s right, even if his ambitions aren’t as appealing as they used to be. Which is only logical: he doesn’t have anyone to share them with.
“Was it Floki?” Ragnar asks out of the blue.
Athelstan’s tensing shoulders is enough of an answer. A familiar rage clenches Ragnar’s heart, even though he doesn’t show any sign of it. He takes Athelstan’s chin between careful fingers, angling his head up.
“That night…” Ragnar pauses. After all these months, his throat keeps tightening painfully when he thinks too much about it. “I wish I could have said goodbye. Perhaps it would have made things easier.”
Athelstan never looked so sad.
***
Ragnar thinks a lot about how he will confront Floki. He pictures joining him by the fire at night, when everyone is asleep. Or between two battles, with his blood still boiling from the fight. In his dreams, Ragnar doesn’t broach this subject with Athelstan. Saying that he doesn’t approve of Ragnar’s plans would be an understatement.
But Ragnar won’t change his mind on that point. He stopped rejecting Lagertha’s or Rollo’s attempts at comfort when Athelstan insisted that they were his family, he did. That doesn’t mean Floki’s crime will remain unpunished. Ragnar made a promise to himself -and secretly to Athelstan- that he would avenge his death.
The opportunity arises after a battle, a vicious one. The Parisian fire kept them out of the walls, once again. It killed too many of them, which isn’t new either. Of course, Floki starts complaining, bursting into Ragnar’s tent, who didn’t even have time to wash the blood off his hands.
“What is wrong this time?” Ragnar sighs, leaning back against a table, arms crossed over his chest.
“Do you need to ask? They are destroying us!”
“Yes. That happens during a war. I suppose it will be better tomorrow.”
Floki walks up to him, forefinger raised but axe still in its sheath.
“No, it won’t. The Gods are angry.”
Ragnar pushes himself off the table, his calm gone faster than he expected.
“Maybe they are, yes! Maybe starting this journey with the murder of an innocent man didn’t satisfy them!”
Floki draws back, just a little. His hand moves towards his axe, but he stops himself halfway.
“Go on, take your axe. Could you hit me with it? Just like you did to Athelstan?”
The shipbuilder blinks, too late to hide the flash of hate.
“He was corrupting you,” he spits.
Ragnar wants to strangle him; he fists his hands into his tunic instead, bringing him closer.
“Do you know what it’s like, to walk into a room and find the body of the person you love the most in this world? The one person you don’t want to outlive, because you know it will break your heart to wake up every morning without them?”
Unexpectedly, Floki keeps his mouth shut.
“When I discovered Athelstan that night, for a foolish moment I thought he was only hurt. That he would wake up if I shook him hard enough. But you made sure he wouldn’t, Floki.”
As Ragnar hoped, Floki can’t stay quiet for long. For once, it isn’t a problem.
“You don’t understand, Ragnar. It appeased the Gods. I only obeyed their sign!”
That’s too much, too painful, yet it is also a good reason to unleash his fury. He has been containing it for so long.
One headbutt and Floki drops to the ground. Ragnar kneels over him, delivering another blow, or maybe two.
“What sign?” he shouts. “What sign was good enough for you to decide that you could take my heart from me?”
Ragnar is hitting him again –he lost count of the number of blows he delivered. The noise they made must have been enough to drag attention to his tent, for someone’s feet appear next to Floki’s head, and hands push back at Ragnar’s chest.
“Stop!” Lagertha exclaims. “You’re going to kill him!”
“I know!”
At that, Lagertha stops trying to free Floki and Ragnar stops hitting him. Floki lies on his back, a devastated look on his face that has nothing to do with his new bruises.
“He killed Athelstan.”
His voice sounds hollow to his own ears. He isn’t sure he said it aloud, but he probably did, considering Lagertha’s widening eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“The Gods told me,” Ragnar snickers down at Floki. “He murdered a member of my family and betrayed his king. He has to die.”
Lagertha doesn’t say anything. She seems at a loss, but eventually leaves the tent, maybe to bring back Rollo or someone else. Who cares.
Ragnar certainly doesn’t. He doesn’t even have the energy to hit Floki, or to hold back his tears. He feels lost, more than ever.
“I only wanted him to wake up.”
Floki raises his head off the ground, with difficulty. He has to spit some blood before he is able to talk.
“Athelstan didn't fear his fate. He died like one of us. Sometimes, I see why you... I understand.”
It doesn't change anything, but at least, Floki will die quickly.
***
Floki’s execution doesn’t bring Ragnar any peace, just the feeling that justice was done, and even that isn’t comforting. The one thing that would comfort him isn’t in this world anymore.
***
As he makes his way through the woods, Ragnar fears he won’t find Athelstan. He trips several times, running to the waterfall. All the hurry was useless though –Athelstan is there, as usual, with his raven. Ragnar doesn’t slow down and wraps him into a tight hug as soon as he reaches him.
“It’s done. I know you don’t agree, but it’s done,” Ragnar babbles.
Athelstan shushes him with a kiss.
“You’re still too far,” Ragnar adds, his tone close to begging. “You’re always too far.”
“It won’t be long now.”
Ragnar’s heart leaps in his chest and even though Athelstan tries to hide it, a glint of joy sparkles in his eyes.
“How do you know? Did the Gods tell you something?”
“The Gods don’t tell me a lot. As you know, I’m often busy with someone else. But Odin may whisper reassuring words in my ear from time to time. The Gods are impatient to see you.”
At last.
“And you, Athelstan? Will you be there?”
“I told you once: what matters to me is where you are going.”
Still next to them, the raven croaks approvingly before flying away towards the sky. Ragnar recognizes that sign, grabs Athelstan’s hand a second before he starts disappearing.
“I love you.”
The words don’t sound strange anymore.
Athelstan is still smiling when he vanishes into the breeze.
***
Today, Ragnar wakes up without any tear rolling down his cheeks.