God's Forsaken People
A Vikings oneshot.
Summary: Ragnar Lodbrok was dead. Where did he go after he took his last breath, to Valhalla or to Heaven? This is an exploration of Ragnar dealing with the afterlife and the consequences of the choices that got him there.
Warning: Rated T for mature themes.
He was surrounded by pale faces.
He didn't need to count them. They stood out clearly against the black canvas behind them, faces of people he once knew mixed with those he wished to stopped knowing altogether.
The farther he twisted his head, the less distinct some faces became; some were missing altogether, just a skull with wax dripped over it of people watered down in memories. He had little care for them as they whispered forgotten names. He had little care for any of the faces that even grew features, the ones that bore noses and eyes and mouths.
But there was one. The one with a mouth that spoke of many things, of eyes that echoed with knowledge, of ears that always listened when all he could do was scream.
He had said a great many things about this place and this moment. Kingdom and gate did not seem synonymous with it, the image of some Heaven or Valhalla lost in the translation of the darkness. There was nothing pearly or awe-inspiring about the moment, no gentle man to greet him. He almost wanted to sneer at how very little his God turned out to be.
But then he glanced at him again, as hard as he tried not to, and the whole picture began to focus.
When he spoke of mercy, forgiveness, and a kingdom, he also told of a place far below where those of great misdeeds toiled over. He talked of burning and death many times over. Ragnar was not sure whether he was in this Heaven or this Hell, but he was almost certain it was the latter.
He had been baptized in the name of the small God who evaded him, and yet, he was trapped in a place he could not describe with no other whole person but himself in sight.
It could only be Hell, if Athelstan was placed to taunt him; or perhaps, in the end, Floki was right. Maybe Odin and the Valkyries had punished him with this eternity, to not only stare at Athelstan but at the faces of others who had died, many of whose deaths were delivered by his own hand. The irony, that his judge and jury would be these people.
"Did I not do what you preached about?" He asked, throwing up his hands to look around at the less desirable faces. As long as it was anything other than Athelstan.
"I was baptized, wasn't I? So where is your amazing God, hm?" He dropped his hands. There was no answer.
There never was an answer.
He marched right up to Athelstan. He never got too close, but any distance was too close to avoid the knot in his throat.
"You said if I were baptized, I would be saved. That I could go to Heaven with you."
Athelstan's eyes didn't even twitch. Frustrated, Ragnar took a step away from him. He couldn't pass through the circle the people had woven around him; there was too many of them and too little of space for him to step through. He circled the ring, the cage they made, in a stalled stroll and tried to clear his head, but he always found himself pausing at Athelstan.
"I carried your cross you know."
Like he didn't already. Ragnar felt like he had to point it out though.
"I went to the great city you talked about. But I do not understand this position I am." He smiled faintly, but instantly his mouth drooped from it. "I think you and I know both know there has been some… mistake."
He couldn't be sure who was behind this. Could it be his God, or could it be Loki? With whom was he even bargaining with? It was Athelstan's face, but it was just as dead as when he buried him, when Floki cleaved the life out of him.
Darkness consumed many things. It wasn't hard to settle in Ragnar's heart.
He paced and paced and paced. He couldn't even see his two feet below him as if his body too was black and blended in with his environment.
At one point, he went up to each and every face. There was so many of them, he couldn't help making faces at a few for reactions, but nothing changed. Finally, he had to throw up his hands and surrender to the defeat only Lagertha would accept.
"So, since I am dead, and this is my hell, what am I supposed to do, hm?"
Ragnar didn't want to think of that. He had been expecting all this time to be reunited with the priest. He had endured the great internal suffering of their defeat just because of that thought. Deep down, he wanted Athelstan to prove him wrong; to show that 'pagan' gods were indeed false, and there was a merciful God.
And yet he gets this.
"This is nothing you taught me, Athelstan. I have no idea what this is. Is it your Hell, or mine?"
It didn't matter whether it was the Hell of one god or many. It was the same, horrible purgatory from either. Ragnar's eyes lingered on his features, the faint smile, the eyes, before he tore himself away.
"Is this because I killed Christians?" He questioned the air now, letting the bitterness linger on his tongue. "Is it because I burned your sacred places, and stepped on your special bones? What's so special about bones anyway..."
He let his thought go unfinished. They cared about a heap of bones as much as he cared for Athelstan's. It was a simple explanation, but he wanted to hear it from someone other than himself.
He sighed loudly, exasperatedly, expecting the social cue to get him something; but still, the ring of faces remained without emotion. Giving another, more internal sigh, he plopped on the ground and laid back, stretching his limbs out and staring at the black abyss overhead.
"Show me what you want me to learn Athelstan. I do not understand."
The more he stared, the more the darkness burned; and when he blinked three times, it was all gone.
The black suddenly exploded into hues of blue and splatters of white, a mixture so blinding even for an evening sky that he had to shield his eyes and blink away the blackness gnawing at his vision. He was startled when a weed stroked his cheekbone, and he sat up quickly, the silence echoing in the sound of a waterfall somewhere in the distance.
"Very funny Athelstan," He said, but the amusement in his voice was just liquified sarcasm. It dripped everywhere and burned like acid through his memories. He knew this place.
Of course, he knew this place. It was where he buried Athelstan.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…
"He makes me lie down in green pastures…" He echoed quietly. The tang it left was neither pleasant nor bitter; but it made him clearly see the thread he was supposed to grab, the string faith left for him to connect him to 'the plan'.
"Is this your heaven now priest? Seems a bit plain to me." Even as small as it was, he felt some comfort in familiarity. "I thought your God had a bit more creativity."
"You are almost there at least, my friend." The voice made the string constrict around his heart, to crawl up to his throat and tie many knots in the time it took him to turn.
Athelstan didn't look much different than when he buried him. There were no wings or a white glow about him. He could have been alive for all he knew; except he did know, and that thought burned.
"Athelstan," He said simply to counteract the complexity he felt building inside of him. "Nice of you to join me, after you abandoned me in the darkness."
Athelstan frowned. "That was not my doing, I can promise you that."
"And what happened to your God greeting me at a white gate, hm?"
"He was testing you, Ragnar. He was testing your faith in Him," He explained in faint amusement.
"Then I suppose he is satisfied, now that I am seeing you."
"Not quite."
Ragnar raised to his feet easily. "And what do you mean by that priest?"
"He wants to let you in. He truly does," He paused for a moment. "But you are not ready yet. You still struggle between Him and your gods."
"I was baptized for him wasn't I?"
"Who were you really baptized for Ragnar? For Him, or for me?"
Ragnar wished to grab the silence by the neck and strangle it; there was undoubted truth in the priest's words, as much as he wanted to ignore it.
It took some time for Athelstan to continue. "But He's giving you a chance. When you are ready, He will accept you into His kingdom, and He has allowed me to help you with that."
It seemed overkill for one puny God to demand so much from his followers, but Ragnar had set out on this deviant path with one intention in mind; to find a Heaven that he could share with Athelstan.
He took a few steps forward and sat at Athelstan's feet.
"Then teach me those words again," He said. "About the shepherd and the water."
Athelstan's gentle smile made him feel like he could fly straight to the Heaven he spoke of, but it wouldn't be that easy. Gracefully, the priest dropped down and sat in front of him, repeating those words he wished to hear a thousand more times.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures."
Ragnar closed his eyes and counted all the faces again, of the people that trapped him in the blackness; but he couldn't linger there, in the place with no light. It would consume him, and his ambition would never be fulfilled.
"He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul."
Ragnar still wasn't sure whether or not there was a Valhalla or a Heaven.
"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. "
But he knew one thing for sure; where Athelstan went, he would follow.
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me..."
Even if that meant forsaking Valhalla's halls for something a little whiter.
He wouldn't fear wading through the darkness because beyond it would always be the light. Though his bad deeds may haunt him in death, he was in good hands.
He couldn't decide whether that was God's, or Athelstan's.
When the priest finished, he waited for a reaction, studying Ragnar's face with his gentle eyes.
Ragnar only had one thing to say: "Say it to me again."
I wrote the first part of this almost a year ago and decided to finish it out as a warmup. I love Ragnar and Athelstan so much, it was hard to let them go.
I hope you enjoyed.
-Soul Spirit-