Ragnar watched the entire exchange, first with a disgruntled irritation, then a shocked, but fierce pride over the actions of his son. He wanted to say something to Athelstan about it assure him that it would not happen again, but he could sense that the younger man would not appreciate it. However, he would speak to the servants after dinner.
Athelstan had taken care of his family, and even as a slave, Ragnar considered him to be a part of said family. The children already loved him, and the Earl himself was growing fond of the talks they had.Â
âEat your dinner Bjorn. Donât drink your milk too fast or youâll fill up and have no room for your supper.â He said as the maid came over to fill his cup. He gave Athelstan a knowing smile, âYou too priest.â he said softly, before digging into his own plate.
Months later found Athelstan in Ragnarâs room. They sat together in front of the fireplace resting on a large fur. The monk had been teaching the blonde how to speak English. So that his next trip to North Umbria would be less confusing. It would be a while yet before Ragnar set sail again. But it was never too early to start learning.Â
Athelstan was smiling and trying his hardest not to laugh at the way Ragnar stumbled over the words. His accent was incredibly thick. It was difficult to hear any English through it. That, combined with the fact Ragnar liked to joke and play around, was the source of his mirth. Athelstan didnât mind it, however. It was endearing.Â
Athelstanâs hair had grown out to an awkward length. He needed to wear small braids at the crown of his head just to keep his bangs out of his eyes. To which Gyda was more than happy to help him with. His beard had started growing out as well. If he looked at his reflection Athelstan would say he was starting to look rather barbaric. The thrill of it was not lost on him. Gyda said he looked daring. And Bjorn said this was simply how he should look, being a man.
The monk had not ceased his urgings for his freedom, either. He was proper in his timing of such questions. But now it had become a sort of joke between he and Ragnar. Athelstan felt like he would never be considered an equal. Even still, he would laugh with Ragnar, his owner, every time it was brought up.Â
Since their lessons started more and more often the monk found his thoughts wandering to Ragnar. Or rather parts of Ragnar. His smile. His eyes. His thick shoulders and the way he walked. During the day it was easier to push these thoughts away, but at night he could not tie down his rampant imaginings. He had long since stopped paying penance for these particular sins. In fact he had long since stopped praying all together.Â
Athelstan had almost completely embraced Odin and the other gods as his own. However, forgetting his past was proving more difficult than he thought. He still carried his crucifix with him and only ever thought of it when something didnât quite make sense to him, or if he was frightened. He didnât feel the need to express his uncertainties with anyone but the shadows in his room under the cover of dark.Â
The other servants in Kattegat were as friendly as ever. Few took the time to actually speak to him. There were a handful of servants who were trying desperately to step into his shoes. They spoke with the children often, playing with them and just being kind in general. It wasnât that they were treating Bjorn, Gyda or even Ragnar poorly. It was just that their kindness seemed tainted by the underlying bitterness towards Athelstanâs preferential treatment.Â
This was all hearsay on his part. It was simply what Athelstan felt when regards to these people. He saw no reason to voice it aloud, however. They had done nothing against the children and so there was no reason to act against them.Â
More and more often this small family and Athelstan found comfort in front of their fires as winter was beginning to raise its head from the long slumber she had been in. Thicker clothes and more layers were starting to show themselves as the people of Kattegat continued with their daily work.Â
More than once now, while Athelstan had been helping with chores, he heard someone talking about some grand pilgrimage called Uppsala. Or perhaps it was a placed called Uppsala. From what Athelstan had gathered it was a ritual of sorts that took place once every 9 years. Always eager to learn, it took everything in Athelstan not to ask Ragnar about it. From the way the people were talking it sounded like it was something Ragnar did not often participate in. They had sounded worried, for they could not make the trip themselves either and felt that the Earl should do so in order to represent the families in his territories.Â
Once again Uppsala, and all his questions about it, floated to the surface of Athelstanâs thoughts. âI wish you would behave yourself.â he said. Though his tone was not chastising. Not at all. If anything the mirth in his eyes seemed to encourage the silliness from Ragnar. âI am trying to teach you the complex dynamics of the word âthere.ââ
Ragnar had enjoyed the time heâd been given with Athelstan and his children. Often he would train with Bjorn, or go on hikes with Gyda between his duties as Earl. But the times he cherished the most were his English lessons with Athelstan. The man was wittier than Ragnar had given him credit for, and he found that the more comfortable Athelstan became, the more friendly they became to each other.Â
Ragnar didnât deny Athelstanâs requests for freedom because he wanted or needed the man as a slave anymore. No, his biggest fear was that the monk would leave his side, and decide to go back to England. It wasnât right, or good, but Ragnar had never claimed to be a good man. Every request was a stab to his chest, but he took it with grace and a laugh, paired with a pat to a shoulder or a hand, requesting that the brunette be patient.
âTheir, there and theyâre. What does it matter, itâs all the same word.â he said through a laugh, laying on his stomach beside Athelstan in front of the fire, âBesides, I think we have worked on English enough for the day. I would much rather just talk.â
The Earl picked at the fur beneath him for a moment before rolling onto his back and folding his hands over his chest. âI am thinking of going to Upsalla. I have not been since before the children were born. It is good for them to go.You should come with us...â His fingers tapped rapidly over his chest, a tell tale sign of his that there was more on his mind than he was saying.
