"It sounds like youve met someone who reminds you of Lagertha," Athelstan smiles a little more. "Has she thrown any dishes at you yet?"
Athelstan still feela guilty despite that assurance. There's the desire to be able to mold himself to be just right but then again thats not what Ragnar would want of him and Athelstan has too many principles for it to work anyway. If he could change who he is he would have changed long ago.
"First we need to get all of them clean and clean clothes and then I will tend to it."
"In some ways... And in others they are nothing alike," He said with a shrug, trying not to smirk at the question, "Not dishes... A few apples though. She's also thrown me through a door."
He sighs happily like he couldn't ask for anything more in a woman.
Ragnar reluctantly pushed himself to his feet with a quiet exhale of pain, wishing Athelstan would agree to just let him ignore all of this until the morning. Maybe everything except for his palm. But he knew the monk would insist on trying to clean him up.
"I see," Athelstan smiles slightly and shakes his head. Ragnar is a strange man. "I am sure you did something that called for that."
Ragnar just had a way with women, obviously.
Athelstan stands. "Do you need my help to get cleaned up?" he questions, somewhere along the lines he'd started to sober up. Perhaps it's out of necessity to settle the peace between them or maybe it's just wearing off. There's a twinge of pain starting but he ignores it in favor of making sure Ragnar doesn't just go to bed with dirty and untended wounds.
"Eh. Debatable," He said with a smile that betrayed how exhausting the day's events had been. He looked away, biting his lip. It probably wasn't a good sign at all that Athelstan hadn't asked for a name. Maybe he'd just leave it there.
"Just to sew this up," He tilted his hand to show Athelstan his palm, the deep puncture still oozing slowly.
Leaving Athelstan to get himself up, he went back into the kitchen and grabbed what was left of the bottle of whiskey, sneaking a quick couple of mouthfuls and making a face at the burn in his throat before rejoining Athelstan in the front room.
"I think there is a needle and thread upstairs in the bathroom," He was pretty sure he'd seen one in the little first aid kit Gyda had insisted they needed. Smart girl.
Athelstan is no less exhausted really and he doesn't particularly feel ready to intake any more information that day than he already has. Even he has his limits, his patience had been tested and he felt strained.
All the same, he gives Ragnar a disapproving look as the other goes to the kitchen. "Alright but you are going to clean up before you go to bed," he says stubbornly. He's on his way upstairs after that and it didn't take him long to find needle and thread and an antiseptic wash that also appeared to be in the kit.
"Sit," he says once he gets back downstairs with the supplies he'd gathered.
"Yes, yes," He sighed, waving his hand as if he were trying to clear Athelstan's concern away. Actually, soaking in a hot bath for a while before he went to sleep sounded like an amazing idea, so the monk actually didn't have anything to worry about.
He quietly took a seat at the table to Athelstan's right, laying his left arm out, palm up for him. He should thank him for cleaning up. He knew he should. Instead, he stubbornly reached for the bottle and took another drink, offering it over to Athelstan with a raised eyebrow.
Athelstan waved the bottle away when it was offered. Instead he took some of the gauze, which he had spent a bit of time studying curiously before he came back down with it. He poured some of antiseptic solution on, everything had been labeled for what it's for which had been helpful. He spends time cleaning up the hand first, the needle on the table.
Once he's satisfied, he starts to stitch. He works quickly and efficiently to make careful stitches. "It's a wonder that Bjorn never threw knives at me."
"Bjorn would have never," He stated without doubt or hesitation, once again picking at the label on the whiskey bottle, all but ignoring what Athelstan was doing.
"He may not have respected you at the time, but he respected me. And he would not have wanted to disappoint me or his mother. Throwing a knife at an unarmed slave would have been very dishonorable."
"When you and Lagertha were gone, I was not so sure about that," Athelstan smiled slightly. Bjorn had been difficult at first but they'd grown fond of each other. He's not quite so sure that he has as much faith in a young Bjorn as Ragnar has. "Is it so dishonorable? Slaves can be raped or killed with no one held responsible."
He finishes off the stitches and he squeezes Ragnar's wrist gently. "He grew up into a fine Viking man, though."
"True. Those are our laws," But Ragnar believed it was an incredibly weak man who harmed or worse killed someone who had no means to fight back. It said a lot about a person's character. As usual, he only sort of answered Athelstan's question, leaving the rest up to him to infer.
"I would like to believe I taught Bjorn better than that."
He turned to study Athelstan's face, his own a mask of neutrality. Finally, he gave him a single nod in acknowledgment, looking deeply thoughtful.
"You did, I merely... he was very cross about you leaving a slave in charge of him," Athelstan smiles briefly. He misses those earlier days terribly now.
He lets go of his wrist, his hands dropping to his lap as he goes back to fiddling with the bracelet now that he had finished sewing up the wound. He's exhausted and he's never felt more conflicted. He'd been so happy to be with Ragnar and this day feels like a punishment from God for being so sinful.
A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he remembered the look of shock and outrage on his son's face. A poignant lesson that life would throw things at you that you had to deal with even if you thought they were outrageously unfair. Thinking and speaking of Bjorn, the man he had apparently become, only made him dwell on how he'd, apparently, failed his future sons.
He silently reached for the bottle and took another drink, quietly hating himself for mistakes he hadn't even made yet.
He waved Athelstan off, "I will go when I am ready."
Athelstan frowns at him, eyeing the bottle. "Stop dwelling on things you can't change," he says gently. He stands and his hand drops to his shoulder and he squeezes. There's no other words he really has to offer and he doesn't say anything else before he grabs a jacket he's acquired from near the entrance.
"Good night," he's planning to spend at least a few hours out with his art and books, either trying to pray or drawing or both. It'd been clear that Ragnar hadn't wanted to join him in bed and he didn't want to deal with that fact just now.
Ragnar made a face, something close to an annoyed sneer. He knew Athelstan was right and that was the worst part, that he couldn't change anything. That he just knows he'll do it and there's nothing he can do to stop it or mend it and his children obviously hate him for it and... he deserved it.
He watched Athelstan like a hawk, watched him get his jacket, his eyes burning a hole in the back of his head as he walked away, but he didn't ask where he was going, too proud at the moment to want to sound desperate. And he would. He didn't want Athelstan to leave, but it was probably better for them both to get some space.
He'd find Ragnar bathed and passed out, cradling the bottle, in the spare bedroom when he returned.
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Athelstan still feela guilty despite that assurance. There's the desire to be able to mold himself to be just right but then again thats not what Ragnar would want of him and Athelstan has too many principles for it to work anyway. If he could change who he is he would have changed long ago.
"First we need to get all of them clean and clean clothes and then I will tend to it."
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He sighs happily like he couldn't ask for anything more in a woman.
Ragnar reluctantly pushed himself to his feet with a quiet exhale of pain, wishing Athelstan would agree to just let him ignore all of this until the morning. Maybe everything except for his palm. But he knew the monk would insist on trying to clean him up.
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Ragnar just had a way with women, obviously.
Athelstan stands. "Do you need my help to get cleaned up?" he questions, somewhere along the lines he'd started to sober up. Perhaps it's out of necessity to settle the peace between them or maybe it's just wearing off. There's a twinge of pain starting but he ignores it in favor of making sure Ragnar doesn't just go to bed with dirty and untended wounds.
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"Just to sew this up," He tilted his hand to show Athelstan his palm, the deep puncture still oozing slowly.
Leaving Athelstan to get himself up, he went back into the kitchen and grabbed what was left of the bottle of whiskey, sneaking a quick couple of mouthfuls and making a face at the burn in his throat before rejoining Athelstan in the front room.
"I think there is a needle and thread upstairs in the bathroom," He was pretty sure he'd seen one in the little first aid kit Gyda had insisted they needed. Smart girl.
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All the same, he gives Ragnar a disapproving look as the other goes to the kitchen. "Alright but you are going to clean up before you go to bed," he says stubbornly. He's on his way upstairs after that and it didn't take him long to find needle and thread and an antiseptic wash that also appeared to be in the kit.
"Sit," he says once he gets back downstairs with the supplies he'd gathered.
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He quietly took a seat at the table to Athelstan's right, laying his left arm out, palm up for him. He should thank him for cleaning up. He knew he should. Instead, he stubbornly reached for the bottle and took another drink, offering it over to Athelstan with a raised eyebrow.
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Once he's satisfied, he starts to stitch. He works quickly and efficiently to make careful stitches. "It's a wonder that Bjorn never threw knives at me."
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"He may not have respected you at the time, but he respected me. And he would not have wanted to disappoint me or his mother. Throwing a knife at an unarmed slave would have been very dishonorable."
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He finishes off the stitches and he squeezes Ragnar's wrist gently. "He grew up into a fine Viking man, though."
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"I would like to believe I taught Bjorn better than that."
He turned to study Athelstan's face, his own a mask of neutrality. Finally, he gave him a single nod in acknowledgment, looking deeply thoughtful.
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He lets go of his wrist, his hands dropping to his lap as he goes back to fiddling with the bracelet now that he had finished sewing up the wound. He's exhausted and he's never felt more conflicted. He'd been so happy to be with Ragnar and this day feels like a punishment from God for being so sinful.
"Clean up and go to bed, you look terrible."
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He silently reached for the bottle and took another drink, quietly hating himself for mistakes he hadn't even made yet.
He waved Athelstan off, "I will go when I am ready."
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"Good night," he's planning to spend at least a few hours out with his art and books, either trying to pray or drawing or both. It'd been clear that Ragnar hadn't wanted to join him in bed and he didn't want to deal with that fact just now.
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He watched Athelstan like a hawk, watched him get his jacket, his eyes burning a hole in the back of his head as he walked away, but he didn't ask where he was going, too proud at the moment to want to sound desperate. And he would. He didn't want Athelstan to leave, but it was probably better for them both to get some space.
He'd find Ragnar bathed and passed out, cradling the bottle, in the spare bedroom when he returned.