When they brought him in Athelstan didn't pay any attention to him, They brought him to help them with manual labor and with hopes of converting the wild man.
The man did not speak their language but Athelstan understood his and his vulgar words often made his cheeks redden but he learned to ignore the wild man even though Athelstan had to turn away when he came across the pagan being punished for not obeying the other monks.
The grunts of surpressed cries followed Athelstan that night whe he sought sleep. So, quietly Athelstan rose from his cot and, after gathering the healing materials needed, he made his way to the handsome pagan.
He looked no more wild covered in his own blood than he had before. Perhaps he looked more dangerous now, like the warrior Atherlstan knew him to be.
Hesitently, under the pagan's gaze Athelstan moved forward and knelt knext to the pagan and bagen to do what he could for the man's injuries without it being obvious that someone had come to aide the pagan. The man's gaze remained on him as he worked but as he made no move to harm him Athelstan ignored it until he finished what he could.
"Thank you." The pagan said as Athelstan left, practically fleeing the room.
Athelstan did not reply and his heart pounded the entire time it took to put away the healing items and for him to return to bed. Sleep was a long time in coming but when it did it was peaceful and pleasant, children's laughter ringing out over the water.
Athelstan could no longer bring himself to ignore the pagan, conversion did not work, the man spat upon the Holy Communion but drank the wine, calling it piss water as he did so, though Athelstan was glad that his ears were the only ones that understood the words, though the meaning was clear.
They did more than beat him then, they cut his meals down to a single one in the morning.
Athelstan did not understand why his fellow monks were allowing such treatment of another person, slave or not. Their God taught acceptance of all, even pagans though God would like to save all, some people did not wish to be saved.
In the weeks that followed Athelstan took to hiding the burnt loaves of bread and sour apples instead of throwing them out and when he stole away from his bed to tend the pagan's wounds he would pass both loaves and apples to the pagan silently.
The pagan would ask questions f him, questions Athelstan did not answer under ruse of not understanding.
Eventually the pagan stopped asing questions and instead spoke of his family, his wife, Lagerth, a fierce shieldmaiden who had forced him to fend off a bear for her hand in marriage, his son Bjorn, who had makings of a great warrior if he were not so quick to anger, and his daughter, his sweet little Gyda who might already be a woman when he returned home to them, if he returned home to them.
And he gave Athelstan his own name, Ragnar Lothbrok.
Athelstan sometimes caught himself whispering the name when he was alone, wondering why Ragnar's Gods would allow him to remain so chained by his fellow monks.
Strange that Athelstan divided himself from his brothers due to their treatment of a pagan, a man with many false Gods.
Athelstan sighed and watched the lightning streak across the sky, lighting the roiling waves that threw themselves upon the rocks that surrounded the monestary.
Athelstan turned away from the window and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep so he could sneak away to tend the wounds that Ragnar had earned for his attempt at killing one of the crueler monks.
Athelstan could not bring himself to be angry at Ragnar for it, Brother Andrew was a cruel man, angry at the world and, when the Abbot was not paying attention, angry at God. Athelstan did not like the way Brother Andrew watched him and the younger monks and so took care that niether he nor they were alone in a room with Brother Andrew.
Listening to the thunder waves and seeing the lightning flash behind his eyes Athelstan allowed his mind to wonder what tale of Thor Ragnar would tell him when he sought him.
The priest was particularly kind tonight as he mended the lashmarks as he could without taking a needle to them or burning them to stop the bleeding. Ragnar had not understood why the young man had not done either thing at first but he soon realized that the priest came on his own to tend the injuries his foolishness and anger brought him, not by order of his superior.
The little priest even brought him food when his anger again got the better of him and he managed to get his fist in the faceof a horrible priest who took pleasure in making him bleed. Not knowing the words he spoke made Ragnar anger quicker than normal. Seeing his kind priest had calmed the fire of his anger in a way that even Lagertha did not manage, she added fuel to his fire and danced with him among the flames.
But it had earned him punishment and his little priest had come to feed him, they tried to weaken him by giving less food when he disobeyed or did not do as they wished him to, and to spread paste on his wounds to prevent infection.
Ragnar had no doubts that the food, brunt bread loaves and sour apples, had been meant for the trash heap, taken by the priest to feed an errant pagan who chafed under the chains of his bondage.
In reward for his kindness Ragnar told the priest the legends of his people, though he showed no understanding of his words when he'd asked questions in the beginning.
Ragnar wondered what name the priest answered to and if perhaps Ragnar could have pursuded him to join his bed in different circumstances.
Sometimes, when the priest was working behind him on lashes lain upon his back Ragnar would whisper the things he wanted to do to the young man and how he would make sure the priest would enjoy what Ragnar did to his body.
Tonight was one of those night.
"I would lay you down..."
"...Upon my soft furs and..." Ragnar whispered softly as Athelstan smoothed the healing paste on the burning skin of the lask marks Ragnar had recieved for disobeying his orders today.
Athelstan's cheeks burned as hot as the marks he cooled with the paste, his hands gentle as he smoothed the paste against the warmed skin, and he was glad that he was behind Ragnar instead of next to him.
Ragnar did not Speak like this often but Athelstan was glad that he chose the days that Athelstan was working on his back so that Ragnar could not see his burning cheeks and learn that Athelstan knew the language he spoke.
A loud clang and thud made them both look up as the Abbot gazed at Athelstan.
"What are you doing?" The Abbot asked, voice angry and hard.
Athelstan floundered a moment, looking for an excuse as Ragnar stood between him and the Abbot, his stance protective.
Athelstan placed his hand on Ragnar's shoulder and when Ragnar looked at him Athelstan shook his head and stepped toward the Abbot.
"I couldn't ignore him." Athelstan explained.
The Abbot's gaze softened and he reached out to Athelstan and was surprized when the pagan again moved between him and Athelstan, pulling the younger man back and pushing him behind him.
"Hmm." The Abbot said, "Come, Athelstan we need to talk."
Athelstan moved away from the pagan and flinched only slightly when the Abbot put his hand on his shoulder to guide him away. Not daring to look back at Ragnar for the fear that he knew would be in his eyes.
The door to Ragnar's cell shut with a deafening clang.
Ragnar paced the length of his cell waiting for his priest to return. It had been three days since he had been allowed out and that the leader had taken the priest away. Ragnar was worried about his small priest and prayed to his Gods to protect his priest.
Ragnar looked up, eyes angry and murderous when the door to his cell opened.
Athelstan smiled at Ragnar, even before the man's scowl fell away.
Athelstan sat next to the pagan and offered him the bread and cheeses he'd been allowed to bring the man.
Athelstan watched the man eat hungrily even as his free hand came to rest at the nape of of Athelstan's neck, hold firm but gentle, reassuring himself that Athelstan was okay. With that rough, worn hand burning his skin, Athelstan came to a realization and he smiled sadly at Ragnar.
It took Athelstan five days to get things ready.
He carefully packed the food he'd squirraled away into a rucksack. Ragnar's possessions beside the loaves of bread and containers of water.
Those were what had taken the longest, finding Ragnar's things. The Abbot had pput them in the inner sanctum, it was the one place Athelstan was reluctant to disturb.
He then told the Abbot he was taking Ragnar down to the beach to search for large stones to repair a wall that was crumbling.
The Abbot nodded, glad that Athelstan was taking his new role as the pagan's keeper seriously.
Athelstan led Ragnar down the beach, far from the monestary, his sandled feet hardly leaving a mark in the sand. Then Athelstan stopped and took Ragnar's hand, leading him to a small pool, surrounded by high rocks, where a decent sized boat floated.
"The monks used to used to use it to fish, until they made a new one..." Athelstan said in Ragnar's language, "Will you be able to use it to get home?"
Ragnar stared at Athelstan, brow furrowed, gaze angry.
A hand wrapped around Athelstan's throat and squeezed hard.
"You understood every word?" Ragnar growled, voice angry and hateful.
Athelstan wanted to cry at the voice that replaced the soft one he'd grown used to.
Athelstan managed a jerky nod and Ragnar threw him away. Athelstan caught himself on the sharp rocks that surrounded the pool of water but made no move to stop Ragnar as he moved to inspect the boat.
Ragnar inspected the boat for several moments before he decided it would get him home or close to it and climbed into it and began rowing himself towards open water.
"Wait!" Athelstan shouted as he ran to the boat and clutched the side, even with the glare that Ragnar turned to him.
Athelstan threw the rucksack carefully into the boat.
"I'm sorry." Athelstan said.
Ragnar said nothing and began rowing again, Athelstan's fingers slipping from the boat's rim as Ragnar moved towards the open ocean.
Athelstan watched Ragnar get further and further away.
When Ragnar set his gaze on the shores of his homeland again he wondered what he would find. Would Lagertha have assumed him dead? Would his brother have done so as well?
Ragnar stopped rowing, arms aching and tired from his journey. The rucksack the priest had thrown into his boat was almost empty but for a few loaves of stale bread and one or two bruised apples. The string and metal hooks that had been inside the bag as well had been handy in allowing him to catch fish to eat and his possessions had been useful in allowing him to find his way home.
The kindness the priest had shown him before and after his escape made him regret his treatment of the man when he found out that he spoke his language.
Ragnar sighed and stretched his body before taking up the the oars again and rowing to shore, pulling the boat as far ashore as his tired arms could manage before he let himself fall to the sand himself, his back against the warm grains.
His eyes fell closed and he swore he could hear his wife calling his name but he thought she must be a dream because the ocean rocked him to sleep as it had done many nights before.
Ragnar dreamed of the priest, the way he had watched him leave, a mix of sorrow and longing. Ragnar dreamed of the breeze that had rustled the priest's, his brown robe wet at the bottom, blood dripping from his fingertips from where the rocks Ragnar had thrown him on had cut into his skin.
"Ragnar, wake up." A voice called softly.
Ragnar groaned and struggled to open his eyes.
"Hello, husband." HIs wife said as he blinked blurrily up at her, "We were worried that you would not wake."
Ragnar reached up and brushed a lock of Lagertha's hair behind her ear.
"Wife?" Ragnar asked.
"Yes." Lagertha sighed, relieved. "Rest now, you are safe."
Ragnar did as his wife bid him.
Ragnar stood at the water's edge and looked beyond the horizon.
"You want to go?" Lagertha asked.
Ragnar looked at her.
"I left something behind." Ragnar turned back to the horizon. "I'd like to fetch him."
"Him?" Lagertha asked, curiously.
"He aided my escape." Ragnar explained.
"Then bring him home, husband." Lagertha said. "I'm sure I will enjoy him as well."
Ragnar grinned and wrapped his arm around his wife, his mind on the priest who had aided him and shown him kindness when he had no reason to.
'Yes.' Ragnar thought. 'I'll bring bring my priest home. I should not have left him behind in the first place.'
Athelstan woke with a start, the boom of thunder sounding through the monestary as the flash of lightning lit the small space Athelstan shared with his fellow monks.
Athelstan looked out at the ocean and heard a promise in Thor's thunder and lightning. Ragnar would come back for him and he couldn't help the smile that came across his face.