athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

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Athelstan leads Sinric into the suite of rooms, and straight into the bathroom.

"Would you like plain water, or something in it?"

Either way, it's probably going to sting.

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"I don't know if he believes in gods, and if he does, they won't be ours. But he will have us, if nothing else."

"He does, for whatever he needs us."

Talking. Distraction. Killing people.

"If I knew the names of the men who followed that order..."

"What can we do?" Ragnar asks. "Unless he takes us to his world, that is.All this happened almost thirty years ago, for us."

"He won't do that." Athelstan's certain of that. "But some of those men may still live in our time, and if they would do it once, even on command..."

Ragnar nods. "They would do it again. But that still means we should best kill them all in Sinric's time, where we can't get. Because we won't have a chance to go to Miklagard and hunt them all in ours."

Pause.

"Unless there is somebody we can send with our vengeance."

Sinric stirs and starts to roll onto his side. The gesture makes him whimper with pain, still half asleep.

Athelstan's attention is instantly on Sinric.

"Ragnar, could you go and fetch the bandage, lying on the floor there?"

He wants to see if it's clean enough.

Ragnar gets up and fetches the bandage; he understands that Sinric might not want him near. He is big and dangerous, while Athelstan is sweet and non-threatening.

Insensable as he is, Sinric isn't worried by Ragnar's nearness, untroubled by anything but the pains of his body.

Athelstan is as gentle as he can in finishing the salving of Sinric's wounds. He's glad he got a lot of it done while Sinric was passed out, because there's no way for it not to hurt.

Ragnar has brought the bandages, and is sitting on the edge of the bed, at arm's reach from Athelstan.

Sinric whimpers in pain as Athelstan redresses his thigh. He curls in on himself, bumping against Ragnar in his writhing.

"You're with us. And you're safe," Ragnar says, softly.

"I'm sorry", Athelstan murmurs. "We should get you something for the pain, when this is done."

The sound of their voices soothes him and he reaches for the solid warmth of Ragnar for support. For all he has suffered, he trusts them utterly and their nearness brings him comfort.

Realising he is wanted and can comfort, Ragnar reaches out to hold Sinric.

"We're with you and will take care of you," he murmurs.

"To the very best of our ability", Athelstan promises in turn.

Tears prick his eyes and half awake now, Sinric turns away to try to hide them in Ragnar's shoulder.

Ragnar pulls him into his arms and slides down onto the bed so Sinric can comfortably cry on his shoulder and pretend he doesn't.

He's stroking the long golden hair, trying not to catch his fingers where it may be tangled, or matted with blood.

Athelstan finishes what he's doing, kicks off his shoes, and joins them on the bed with his arms around Sinric's upper body, where he thinks the injuries are least.

Thanks to The Varangians' women, his hair is clean but a little tangled and in need of a good brush.

Curled between them, he cries himself out again, his pretty face blotchy with bruises and tears.

When the tears finally dry up, he stays curled with them, staying warm and protected. "You must think me very weak."

"No," Ragnar says. "You are strong; something very terrible happened to you, and you are dealing with it. And you're safe with us now."

He tightens his arm around both Sinric and Athelstan, so Sinric will be enveloped in their warmth.

"You lived through it", Athelstan agrees, "and after everything, you're still thinking of your emperor ahead of yourself. That's not weak."

He swallows roughly, his throat still tight. "I can't go back, not till I'm healed."

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