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summary: Athelstan and Ylva discover an unfortunate happening overnight.
word count: 1154
a/n: Part of a series. Despite being the first completed chapter, this is around the fourth or fifth chapter of a series titled The Grey Wind. As such, it may not make a lot of sense until the first few chapters are written. Due to the small size of the Vikings fandom (and the even smaller number of Athelstan self shippers) I feel comfortable publishing this series out of order. It will help motivate me to complete it, so I figure why not? As such, instead of my usual "part 1, part 2 etc" I will title each chapter individually.
The morning air was crisp and cleansing, at odds with the muddled mist that filled the valley like a bowl of milk. Athelstan could not see the way in front of him, instead relying on Ylva to cut the path. The thick-bodied ponies moved silent and steady beneath them; it would have been enough to lull Athelstan into a waking slumber if it were not for the strange sense of foreboding that dripped like dew from the very boughs of the trees. There was no kulning that morning, and he felt it's absence keenly. Ylva was quiet, coiled as though expecting some unseen horror. Neither of them spoke as they ventured down the rocky hillside and into the depths. The valley seemed to have grown huge beneath the fog, and after a time, Athelstan was sure they were wandering in circles. In the distance, he could hear the cows lowing mournfully, hidden somewhere out of sight.
"Ylva," He began, the urge to suggest that they turn back to find higher ground too strong to bear.
"Shh." She raised one finger, her head tilted slightly.
He obeyed her silent command to listen, straining his ears. He heard crows beating their wings overhead, heavy hooves crushing grass to his right, and there... somewhere beneath the doleful mooing was a noise like a baby's cry, but deeper, more animal.
"Come." She kicked in her heels and her pony flew into a run, her hair a flag of buckskin behind her.
He drove his gelding forward, but he was slow compared to the mare and tossed his head in defiance at any inkling of urgency. Athelstan remembered the first time he had met the girl called she-wolf, in that very valley. Ragnar had joked that she was a wind spirit, and when she galloped ahead on her silver filly, he truly could have believed him. He was bent flat against the gelding’s back, pushing forward with all his might, when the barn came looming through the grey shroud, looking so much like the prow of the longship that had breached, ghostly, through the misty morning at Lindesfarne. He yanked hard on the rains and leaned his weight so far to the left that he nearly slipped out of his saddle, but he managed to pull the gelding back to course without crashing into the wall. The pony bucked and snorted as he dismounted, sprinting to the entrance of the barn.
The shepherd dogs were pacing outside the door, some whining and others barking sharply, constant and agitated. One of them came to him, showing him its side, tail frantically wagging and lips drawn back in a submissive grin.
“It’s alright.” He said softly, cajoling the dog to the side and jogging into the barn.
The iron reek of blood hit him all at once, sending a rolling gag through his body from stomach to mouth. He staggered back a few paces and covered his face with his cloak. A cow lay on its side, knobbled legs splayed limp on the blood-soaked hay. Dark fluid pooled around the back end, clotted and glossy, and a puddle of sour milk leaked from the distended udders. At once, he knelt, his fingers feeling for a pulse, a movement, some sign of life, but the body was cold.
“She’s dead.” He choked.
Ylva was inside already, stooped over something on the floor, her cloak concealing it from view. He saw her face in shadowed relief and for an instant it seemed she was frozen in silent laughter, but as he drew in closer he saw the lines in her face were drawn not of merriment, but of horror. The cow had given birth. He could see that now. The calf laid perfectly still on its side, in much the same position as the mother; legs flopped in all directions, head resting… He leaned over her shoulder, disbelief tugging him down.
“Mother of God.” He whispered.
One black ear. An eye ringed with soft lashes. Another eye. And beside it, another eye, pressed tight against the other in a single socket, both blind and bulging. A fourth eye beside that, set in a face that cleaved away into two muzzles, two noses, two open mouths, a splash of white on one of the faces.Athelstan could not tear his eyes from the abominable scene. The Lord makes no mistakes. He thought, his resolve shaking and- it kicked. One white leg spasmed, both mouths opened and it gave a strange, gurgling cry.
“Help me.” Ylva’s stricken face snapped into blank determination.
“Wh-what?"
“Help me lift it.” She dug her hands under the calf’s shoulder and it gave another feeble moan.
Athelstan cringed as he lifted the back end. It was shockingly light, cold as death and sopping wet. It shivered as they lifted it outside, and Athelstan instinctively held it closer to his torso, soaking his shirt in afterbirth. A light breeze had cleared some of the fog, and the dawn poured into the valley in a diffused shroud of gold. Ylva lifted the calf’s faces to the rising sun.
“Can it see?” Athelstan asked.
“I don’t know.”
They laid it out in a soft patch of grass. Athelstan took off his cloak and swaddled it while Ylva sharpened her hand-axe.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” The words tumbled from his lips. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
“Amen.” Ylva breathed, drawing the blade deeply across the calf’s throat.
It kicked out, fighting to remain in a life so short and wretched and lonely. Crimson gushed from the wound, pulsing with its stilling heartbeat. He watched as the girl cupped her hands beneath the flow and brought it to her face. Sanguine liquid ran in rivulets from her forehead, beading rubies on her nose and chin. Again she stooped and collected the lifeblood, steaming red, and offered it to him.
“What are you doing?” He recoiled.
“He is your torment.” She said simply. “Embrace him.”
Shivers wracked him as he bent over the pool in her hands. He caught his reflection, at once a lamb and a barbarian, and plunged his face into the blood. It was still body-hot as her fingers smoothed it into his skin, slippery and sinful. He tasted it in his mouth, salty and ancient. A different kind of sacrament. His lashes were heavy with it when he withdrew himself, the world shrouded in red mist. Ylva’s eyes were huge, pupils blown out and swimming. Her hands still cupped his cheeks as she leaned in to press her forehead against his. He knew then that a piece of him would always remain kneeling over that innocent aberration of nature, coated in blood and close enough to kiss the pagan she-wolf.
Summary: how timetraveling Vikings would react to modern Christmas/what they enjoy/etc.
Tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added to any of my taglists!)
Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!
Ragnar
I think Ragnar likes modern christmas more than he should
He takes it like many non-christians do nowadays – fuck Christianity, i’m getting presents
Might let Athelstan drag him to church
Leaves midway tho
So bad at gift-giving that he accidentally gets you a great one
Lagertha
The BEST gift giver
Has a little table (after you show her how excel works, obvi) of the people she wants to get presents for and tracks their wishes over the course of a year
You need her at Christmas, actually
She doesn’t like the Christian part of it, but she likes the community it creates and GODDAMN Lagertha makes some good food
Athelstan
Vibes to church service HARD, even in modern times
Big enjoyer of WHAM! And Mariah Carey
Makes small, but very thoughtful gifts
Definitely always gets sick around Christmas and wears a bundle of scarves
Please don’t let him shave his head weirdly, or his brain will freeze
Bjorn
Doesn’t like Christmas
He came to the future, you have planes, let him use them
Spends his Christmas in warm places
Honestly, he might enjoy Aussie Christmas
Any excuse for beaches and bbq
Ubbe
If you want to stage a great Christmas celebration, go to Ubbe
Despite being from Viking times, he will be able to organise it better
He likes bringing people together for any occasion, and will be decorating the venue he chose like a PTA-mom with rabies (so, quintessentially, Ubbe)
Does not let snowy grounds stop him from playing football with friends/brothers
Hvitserk
LOVES Christmas
An endless supply of cookies and chocolate? Are you kidding??? The christians got something right?????
Eats everything you leave lying around
On time for everything during Christmas
Honestly, he gets hilarious gifts for everyone
Surprisingly good at singing christmas carols
Honestly, Hvitserk makes friends in all religions so his year of exquisite eating is just
Spends the entire time critizising the compository value of christmas songs
Has an enemies to lovers arc with them
One day, soon after Christmas Eve, you will find a slightly drunk Sigurd in front of a karaoke machine with a thousand yard stare and the best interpretation of Last Christmas your ears will ever hear
Ivar
Christmas is a capitalist venture for the foolish designed by greedy christians
Totally does not buy super expensive gifts for his friends to brag
That Tesla outside your door? That’s not a Christmas gift silly, he’s sending you down the frozen road as a sacrifice to Odin so his bleeding ears might be saved from Sigurd
Does make an effort to put his mafia-ventures on hold for you though
He still hates Christmas
Floki
HATES CHRISTMAS. Floki hates Christmas so much. Did he already say he hates Christmas?
Hates it so much he secretly loves it.
‘Annoyed’ at Helga for baking cookies with you
‘Annoyed’ at the celebrations and people coming together
He secretly enjoys the non-Christian part of Christmas
But he just can’t get over the Jesus being born thing
Celebrates the part of Easter where he’s dead for a few days
Helga
Loves Christmas, and without shame
Turns into a cookie factory
Handmade gifts for everyone
Does a lot of charity/social work around Christmas
Æthelstan finds a moment to himself in the woods, Frida shows him how to party - Viking style.
Warnings; mentions of Tata's and nudity, mentions of sex.
Æthelstan sat upon a mossy rock, on the outskirts of Kattegat and only a stone’s throw from the blackened oak hut of him and his wife. She was attending to the gods this morning, so Æthelstan thought it would be the best moment to read a book and take a moment for himself.
What a strange life he had, he thought. He took up the life of a monk at a young age, devoting himself to god and spreading the Christian message - and now here he was. Waiting in the woodlands for his wife, his Viking wife no less. She did not follow his faith, and she didn’t plan on forcing Æthelstan to follow hers. He lived in a home adorned with animal skulls, Valhalla ladders, and runes no less.
"My love?" He heard Frida call, he turned to see her in a pale, linen ritual dress - covered in pig blood, just a normal Friday.
"How did it go?" He asked, standing from his place and gazing at his wife fondly.
"It went wonderfully, Freyja is pleased. I must return all this blood to the earth now, though. Were you enjoying your morning to yourself?" She asked. Frida waved Æthelstan over, to follow her deeper into the woods.
"A little boring without all your little eccentricities, I was just thinking about how I could have never forseen my my life going this way." He replied, taking hold of his wife's bloodied hand.
"But are you happy with the way your life has turned out? The three sisters of fate know what they're doing..."
"Of course, I am happier than ever before" Æthelstan pulled Frida's chin with his thumb and forefinger so that their lips could meet in a sweet kiss. The Völva sighed, and pressed her lips together - content.
The couple had reached a stream in the woods, banks adorned with moss draped over glistening grey rocks and boulders. This was a blessed spot where Frida would wash after a ritual, so she stepped down onto the banks and pulled the shoulders of her blood-stained dress down so that it would slowly slide down and onto the ground revealing Frida's bare figure.
She stepped into the stream and cupped her hands to pour water on her blood stained skin. Noticing that Æthelstan hadn't joined her, she looked to him and called; "Well? Are you going join me or keep standing there staring like a creep?"
Her husband snorted at her sarcastic remark started to strip from his clothing. He blushed when he realised Frida was watching him intently.
Æthelstan had noticed something about Norse Women, they weren't as shy with their sexuality as Women from home. They wouldn't blush at the sight of their bare husband, in fact Frida wasn't shy with showing Æthelstan what she wanted.
Once Frida's husband had stepped into the stream - she eyed him and then placed her hands around his waist. Frida leaned into him, trailing a hand up from his waist to stroke his beard.
"It is Friday you know, Freyja's day..." She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, trailing a line with her nose to kiss the spot behind his ear.
"And what does that mean?" Her husband queried in reply, caressing the flesh at her hip's. The witch raised her head and replied;
"It's considered sacred to have sex on Freyja's day." She grinned. The Christian raised his eyebrows, still taken aback by how forward Frida could be.
"Come on then, let's go back" Æthelstan chuckled, taking her hand.
"No, here."
"Here?" He asked, eyes widened at his wife's confident smirk. "But anyone could just walk over and see us?"
"I know," She giggled. "It's exciting isn't it?"
She stroked her husbands cheek, his beard tickling her fingers, this calmed his alarmed expression which softened to become a small and affectionate smile. Frida took his hand that was holding hers and placed it on her breast, pulling him against her. Their lips joined, and their bodies began to heat and blush under each others touch.
Æthelstan thought, thank the gods he broke that vow of Celibacy.
„I haven't slept in ages. The kids are keeping me awake all night, begging for their father.“, you sigh an place the basket of vegetables on top of the wooden table.
„I just hope they get back soon.“, Siggy turns around with a longing gaze to the horizon, where you've last seen the ships, that carried your husbands away from Kattegat.
„I just hope they get back at all. I can't raise four kids by myself.“, another worried sigh leaves your lips as you place one hand on the visible baby-bump that makes moving harder than in already is.
Just two days later, the horns were heard throughout the village as everyone left their work and started gathering at the shore.
„Father is coming home!“, Egil screams out and pulls his little sister , Eostre, and baby brother Jerrik behind him.
You try your best to keep up with their pace, while concentrating on not slipping on the muddy path.
As you get to a stop you place your hands onto your oldest boys shoulders and look around for your husband.
You can spot Siggy wrapped into Rollo's arms, Ragnar and Aslaug already leading most of the people towards the great hall, and even Bjorn and Thorunn can be seen together in the distance.
„I knew you'd wait for me!“, you suddenly hear a familiar voice call out and seconds later your wrapped into your husbands arms.
„I thought you were dead, but here you are smelling like a wet dog.“, as tears start streaming down your face, the tall man cradles his children in his arms. As the kids make their way back to your house, you stay behind a bit and walk hand in hand.
„I thought I wouldn't see you again, Athelstan.“, you mumble and he stops, turning towards you. „I'll always come back to you.“
"You like (Y/N), don't you?" Ragnar frowned while looking at the priest and when he saw the blush that quickly took a hold of Althestan's cheeks, the viking laughed. "You do"
"Ragnar..." Athelstan said with a sight because of the teasing on the other's tone, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You like her, so you should tell her. Maybe she will give you a chance" Ragnar gave him a serious look, but was still laughing as he averted his eyes from his friend and also focused them on you. "Bet she never had a Christian before"
"Ragnar!" Athelstan punched his shoulder slightly and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hold back the little smile that formed itself on his lips while looking at you and hearing the loud laugh Ragnar let out.
