Chapter Text
Athelstan had signed up as an instructor for a ski season because it just seemed like a really nice relaxing way to spend a few months in between university and entering “the real world”, as he saw it. The walls of Corpus Christi Cambridge had been slightly overbearing, at times, but they had closeted Athelstan and his friends away from the outside world and he was of the opinion that he wasn’t ready to join it yet. A ski season seemed a perfectly sensible choice – he was good at skiing, always had been, and also a patient and good-natured kind of guy. Perfect for the job, really.
Athelstan, unfortunately, had not reckoned with being saddled with Bjorn and Gyda Lothbrok within his first week on the job. He had been rather pleased about it when he first heard – a Danish family, he had been told, and he’d been put forward as their children’s instructor because he spoke their language. A chance to practice Danish and two children who’d only skied a couple of times before. Perfect, in Athelstan’s eyes. They were cute kids, certainly, little Scandinavian faces always blazing with innocence and a bright, fierce intelligence. They were, however, utterly overconfident in their abilities as skiers, and Athelstan was completely convinced he was going to be accompanying one or both of them to the hospital before the end of the month.
To be fair to them, Athelstan could understand why they thought so much of themselves. He had seen their parents out on the slopes, and he had never seen two people court death so elegantly and skilfully. Watching them, you could understand why so many people wanted to be great skiers. They made it look so easy, and so beautiful. No wonder their children were so determined to show off.
Over the course of the three weeks that Athelstan had now been coaching Gyda and Bjorn, he had also learnt that the innocence in their faces was genuine only in Gyda’s. Bjorn was a bull-headed young man, who knew far too much about sex and drinking for a fourteen-year-old, in Athelstan’s opinion. He’d had to tell him off far too many times for swearing and making lewd remarks, much to Bjorn’s disgust, and to be honest the only thing preventing Athelstan from chucking it all in and going home was the fact that Gyda always did exactly as she was told, and gave him quiet sweet little smiles in apology whenever her brother was being particularly moronic.
Athelstan was feeling especially close to murder one particular morning about twenty-nine days into the job. (And, yes, he was counting down the days before the children went home at the end of the season, what of it?) He had been nice enough to take the children on a more difficult slope than usual, since they’d been so obnoxious about wanting to the previous day. Gyda, as she always did, had done exactly as he said, following exactly in his tracks and slowing down whenever he waved a hand at her to warn her that a tricky part was coming up. He had just been reflecting that she was really coming along as a neat little skier, arms tucked in nicely, posture close to perfect; but then he was totally distracted by Bjorn shooting past him at twice the speed he’d told them to go, whooping like a Viking and promptly shooting straight off-piste and managing to stay upright for about ten seconds before disappearing into a snow drift.
Athelstan, praying for patience, slowed down to a crawl and swung carefully off the slope, leaving Gyda with the instruction not to go anywhere at the side of it. He found Bjorn quickly and hauled him upright again, checking him over hastily for any injury. Bjorn pushed him off with an angry grunt and a muffled curse word, and Athelstan breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, counting slowly to ten.
“Bjorn,” he said finally, pushing his goggles up to make sure the boy could see his frown, “I want to help you learn to ski properly. But if you insist on continuing to ignore what I tell you, I’m going to have to take this to your parents.”
“They won’t care,” Bjorn replied confidently, tilting his chin back to add the perfect touch of arrogance to his words, “You’re just an instructor. I’m their son.”
Athelstan levelled a thoughtful glare at the child. The truth was, he wasn’t convinced that Bjorn was wrong. Ragnar Lothbrok had a lot of different reputations, but most seemed to agree that he was even more arrogant than his son, and Athelstan couldn’t really see him listening to a lowly ski instructor instead of his own child. That, to be honest, was the main reason Athelstan had still not gone out of his way to say anything about Bjorn’s poor behaviour to his parents. Usually he just dropped the kids back with them at the end of the day, had a brief inconsequential conversation about the weather or the slopes or the day with them, and then left the family to their own devices.
“Right,” he said finally, deciding yet again that maybe he’d give it just another day before he said anything, and with a sigh indicated that Bjorn ought to follow him back to where Gyda was waiting patiently. Bjorn gave her a shove as he went past to vent his embarrassment at having fallen, and Athelstan reached out quickly to steady her. It hadn’t hurt, since both children wore so much padding to keep the cold out, but Athelstan still decided then and there that enough was enough. He was taking this up with Mr and Mrs Lothbrok if they laughed him all the way back to England.
“I’m alright,” Gyda reassured him, giving him a tentative pat on the arm and a shy smile. “It didn’t hurt. He never hurts me.”
Athelstan returned the smile and squeezed her shoulder briefly, then released her and pulled his goggles down.
“Right,” he said again, his voice firm and authoritative now, “We are going to finish this slope slowly and carefully. Gyda, will you go in front, please, and Bjorn you behind. Don’t overtake us.”
With that, he extended his hand to Gyda. She took it, and he swung her around on her skis – much to her amusement – and then released her. She set off quite happily, and Athelstan followed with Bjorn close behind. He could practically feel the young man’s glare burning into the back of his coat, but he ignored it determinedly. Bloody child.
When they reached the bottom of the slope, Athelstan led them both away from the paths of other skiers and quite calmly sat down and began removing his skis. Gyda unquestioningly sat next to him to do the same, but Bjorn folded his arms and scowled.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re done for the day,” Athelstan replied calmly, not looking up at the boy, “I don’t trust you not to put yourself in danger, so I can’t in good faith take you back up the mountain.” Bjorn, at this point, opened his mouth furiously, but Athelstan raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m going to make sure your parents take the two hours left off my wages, so don’t worry, I’m not cheating you. If you want to get your full lesson time, you’re going to have to learn to behave yourself.”
Still quite calmly not looking at Bjorn, Athelstan reached down to help Gyda with a particularly stiff buckle, and then stood up and hoisted his skis onto his shoulder. He now finally directed a glance at Bjorn, who stood with his arms folded, and against his better judgement extended a temporary peace offering.
“If you fancy getting off your skis, we’ll go to the lodge and I’ll buy you both hot chocolate.”
Gyda let out an exclamation of excitement from next to him, and underneath his goggles Bjorn’s eyes widened in dismay. Hot chocolate was like kryptonite to these kids, Athelstan had discovered, and he didn’t mind surrendering the odd few pounds here and there to keep as far on their good side as possible. Athelstan was now quite happy to stand and wait while an internal war raged in Bjorn. On the one hand, his pride really didn’t want to submit to a suggestion from his stupid instructor. But on the other, hot chocolate. Athelstan, trying very hard to hide his grin, calmly sat back down on the bench to wait for a decision.
Finally, Bjorn looked down, and with a deep philosophical sigh bent to get his skis off. Athelstan stood up again and looked down at Gyda, who glanced up and gave him a great conspiratorial grin, possibly the biggest he’d ever got from her. He smiled back and put his arm around her shoulders to lead her off, Bjorn following behind. A few mad skiers sometimes shot down past the lodge, and Athelstan really didn’t want Gyda wandering away from him only to get knocked down. The main difference, he thought as they shouldered their way into the warm building, between his feelings towards the two children was that he didn’t want Bjorn to get hurt mostly because he didn’t want to have to explain it to his parents. He actually wanted to make sure Gyda was alright just for her sake. He knew it should be the same for Bjorn, but he just couldn’t help it. He was such a little shit.
Half an hour later, tucked into a cosy corner of the lodge watching people ski past outside, Athelstan watched Bjorn and Gyda drain the last of their hot chocolate with great, replete satisfaction.
“How was that?” he inquired of them one they had banged their big mugs back down onto the table. Bjorn, in response, only stifled a burp behind one hand, but Gyda gave Athelstan another of those rare brilliant grins and, blushing, replied, “Lovely, thank you, Athelstan.”
Athelstan, concerned by the sudden redness in her cheeks, was convinced she was overheating and in a rather alarmed fashion suggested she her jumper off. She was wearing about twelve, according to Bjorn’s teasing earlier in the day, and it was very warm inside the lodge.
Gyda reddened further and obligingly removed her top layer, emerging pink and ruffled from the top of it. Athelstan gave her a steady smile of encouragement, and then cast around for a topic of conversation.
“So,” he said finally, diving his gaze between the two, “Whereabouts are you staying?”
“Near Haute d’Eleni,” Bjorn ventured, his pronunciation of the French words absolutely atrocious.
“The big chalet,” Gyda agreed, tucking her legs up under herself, “Up on the little hill. It has a Jacuzzi.”
Athelstan, thinking regretfully of his own lodging (which was practically falling down around his and its other occupants’ ears), made a face to convey envy.
“Well, I’m jealous. All I’ve got is a shower, and I have to share that with eight other guys. What else do you have in there?”
Bjorn, mollified by the hot chocolate and eager once again to show off, began reeling off a list of luxuries that would have had Athelstan green in the face with jealousy if he was a more envious sort.
“Playstation, Wii, a big kitchen with all these fancy shiny things, and there’s a TV which hides behind a painting, and a sauna, and we all have double beds, don’t we Gyda, and there’s Sky TV and the walls are so thick we can’t even hear Mum and Dad doing it like we can at home!”
Although he was pretty much used to Bjorn’s lewdness by now, it still took Athelstan by surprise every now and again, and he went quite furiously red at the boy’s last listed bonus of their chalet. This sent both children off into fits of howling laughter, drawing attention from nearby tables, and all Athelstan could do was sit there wondering how he was ever going to look Mr and Mrs Lothbrok in the eye when he complained to them about Bjorn’s poor behaviour.
“Your face,” Bjorn spluttered, clutching onto his stomach as Gyda pitched against him on the sofa, so creased up with laughter she could barely breathe.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Athelstan replied teasingly, doing his best to regain a bit of dignity, “I’m hilarious, sure. Do you two want cake?”
That distracted them instantly, and so Athelstan hastily waved a waitress over and ordered the children an enormous slice of chocolate fudge cake each. If he was lucky, he could stuff them so full they wouldn’t have the energy to move or tease him.
Athelstan’s gamble, an hour later, had backfired. Now cruising a huge sugar high, Gyda was playing Temple Run 2 on Athelstan’s phone with her eyes so wide Athelstan was beginning to get a bit worried, and Bjorn was demonstrating handstands in the corner behind the sofa. It had taken all of Athelstan’s persuasion to get him to stop doing them in the middle of the café, so he’d decided against trying to get him to sit down.
“Yeah, Bjorn, that’s brilliant,” he complimented wearily, running a hand through his hair, “Great stuff.”
Desperately hoping that the children’s parents weren’t going to be as late today as they often were, Athelstan was suddenly startled to his feet by a squeal from Gyda next to him, and turned around to find that her father had arrived and snuck up on her.
“Got you,” Ragnar said with a laugh, and Gyda giggled and flung her arms around his neck.
Athelstan found those piercing eyes turned on him next, and it was with the exact same teasing tone that Ragnar had used on his daughter that the man announced, “Got you too.”
Athelstan laughed a trifle nervously and tried to look in control as Bjorn appeared from behind the sofa and crashed forwards over the furniture to his parents.
“Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t expecting it. Have you had a good day’s skiing?”
“Yes, thank you,” the reply came, but from Ragnar’s wife this time. Athelstan glanced towards her as she stepped forward to give her son a hug, and she gave him a big, bold smile. There seemed to be an undertone of suggestiveness to it, and Athelstan swallowed hard and looked back to Ragnar. This family was always playing games – nicely, teasingly, but games all the same – and he was constantly wary around them. His suspicion doubled as Lagertha elbowed her husband in the ribs, and he glanced at her questioningly. A silent exchange passed between them, and Athelstan instinctively took a step back as they turned identical feral grins on him.
“We’ve been wondering, actually, Athelstan,” Ragnar began, sweeping Gyda up over his shoulder to provoke more giggles, “If you would be free to join us for dinner this evening? We have a very nice house and my wife here is a really excellent cook. It would be a great honour. Gyda’s told us so much about you.”
Gyda, over Ragnar’s shoulder, went absolutely silent and then breathed out a scandalised, “Papa!”
The other three members of her family dissolved into helpless laughter, and Athelstan’s eyes flickered helplessly between them. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but did his best to mask that.
“I, uh,” he started, and then cleared his throat and continued more decisively, “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Oh, no, please, we really want you to come,” Lagertha said breathlessly, just about recovering, “It will be a lot of fun.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” Athelstan continued, watching with ever-mounting confusion as Ragnar deposited Gyda back onto the floor and she hid an astonishingly red face in his side.
“We are,” Ragnar agreed, still laughing as he put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “We’ll see you at seven thirty. You know where our chalet is?”
“Yes, the children said,” Athelstan responded quickly – he was extremely bewildered by the entire exchange and just really wanted to get away. Ragnar and Lagertha both looked monumentally pleased by this, and after a brief conversation about the day’s skiing, the family piled out of the building and disappeared into light snowfall.
It wasn’t until they had entirely disappeared that Athelstan realised he yet again had failed to say anything about Bjorn’s poor behaviour.
And that Gyda still had his phone.