Melkorka
oneiriad
Disclaimer: Vikings does not belong to me. I'm just playing.
Athelstan does not notice the first arrow. Oh, he hears it, whistling past, but he's with a foraging party, after all, and besides, he is distracted - considering when the most opportune moment might be to quietly slip away.
It's not until the second arrow narrowly misses him that he realizes they are under attack.
Then he runs.
Behind him he hears screams of pain, the sound of men crashing through the undergrowth, shouts - "Don't let him get away! The king will have our heads if we let him get away!"
He's not sure how long he's been running when he finds the stream, but they're still following him. He can hear them - not close, but not far behind either.
He remembers Aethelwulf's words - "There's a stream a couple of miles east of the Northman camp. By that stream, there is an old tree, which was felled by lightning - it did not die, though. Instead, six new trees grew from its fallen trunk. I shall leave some soldiers there and tell them to look for you." - and he's not sure if this is the right stream, but what choice does he have?
So he follows it - out of the forest, out in the open, out where he cannot hide from his pursuers.
Soon, the arrows are flying again.
But then there is a new shout and more arrows fill the air, as a small force of Saxon soldiers - Aethelwulf's men - reveal their presence.
It's a short fight.
Afterwards, the soldiers put him on a horse and take him to King Ecbert's royal villa. It's a quiet ride. From time to time one of the soldiers will look at him askance, as if wondering what business their liege might have with this Northman, but they know better than to ask.
Lord Aethelwulf meets them at the gates and leads Athelstan straight into the king's private chamber. The king looks up as they enter - then rises, abruptly, knocking his inkpot over in his haste, and Athelstan finds himself enveloped in the older man's arms.
"Hello, Father."
Aethelwulf has just managed to get away from a somewhat too friendly Princess Kwenthrith when he spots Athelstan leaving the victory celebration. Curious, he follows him outside and watches as he crosses the courtyard and enters the healers' shack.
His brother's been quiet today, not himself - not since he begged their father for the Northman's life on the battlefield. Though in truth, Athelstan hasn't seemed quite the youth he remembers from all those years ago, so eager to learn things - and how their father had indulged his desire for knowledge, had allowed him to visit the French court and to spend time at monasteries to study Latin and Greek.
These days, Athelstan is quieter - at first, Aethelwulf had thought him broken, but his brother had insisted - vehemently - that he had not been mistreated during his long captivity - and certainly, Aethelwulf cannot recall him ever seeming haler. Still…
Their father had chided Athelstan, once, for not having revealed his true identity to the Northmen - "We would have had you back years ago, if they had known your true value" - but Athelstan had shook his head.
"Or perhaps you would not have had me back at all, if the only value they saw in me was a few more pounds of gold."
That's another change, Aethelwulf thinks. The brother he remembers would never have gainsaid their father.
Aethelwulf wanders slowly towards the healers' shack, stopping to exchange words with a couple of injured soldiers along the way.
Inside it's dark and the air is heavy with the stench of blood and feces.
He wanders towards the back, towards where they are keeping the captive.
Athelstan is sitting next to the Northman, speaking to him in their crude tongue - then the man reaches out, wrapping his huge hand around Athelstan's slender neck and Aethelwulf almost steps forward to intervene, except Athelstan is already pulling the hand away, speaking more words that Aethelwulf does not understand.
As he watches the pair, he remember his first sight of Athelstan, on the day he had been offered as a hostage to Ragnar Lothbrok. He remembers how he had almost not recognized his own brother in the fierce young warrior before him.
It has been easy to forget that, this last year, to see only the young Saxon scion, to see only the scholar who shares their father's love of forbidden knowledge.
To see only his brother.
The man he sees now, crouching down by the Northman's side, is a stranger.
He waits until the Northman falls asleep and Athelstan rises to leave.
"When did you become a Northman, little brother?"
Athelstan doesn't seem startled by his presence, as if he knew he was there all along. In fact, he doesn't react at all, for a moment. Then he shrugs.
"I'm not sure anymore."
Above him the wind is filling the sail, stretching it taut.
He is lying, his head in Ragnar's lab and Ragnar's fingers toying with his hair, and, for the first time in more than a year, he feels truly at ease.
"It will be good to come home," and Athelstan answers "yes," as he feels his eyes drift shut. It will be good to come home.
His father wouldn't have understood that - wouldn't have let him leave. It was all that Athelstan could manage, to persuade him to play along with the charade of Athelstan the monk - "How will they trust anything I have to say, if they learn that I have been lying to them all these years?"
Thank God - the gods? - thank all of them that Aethelwulf had understood, at least.
"I think Father plans to see you and Princess Kwenthrith wed," Aethelwulf had said, leaning close as the Northmen were leaving the royal villa. Then he'd laughed at Athelstan's expression.
"What's the matter, little brother? Are you not the one who has regaled us with tales of the fierce shieldmaidens of the North? And surely it is better to have your grandchildren inherit a kingdom than to take one by force?"
"Of course," he had managed, eventually.
"Unless," and Aethelwulf had stepped closer, as if he worried their conversation might be overheard, "unless there's somewhere else you'd rather be?"
In the end, the plan had been a simple one - Athelstan would accompany Aethelwulf when he went to return Rollo to Ragnar, to act as an interpreter once more, and if Athelstan chose to stay behind, Aethelwulf would be the one to bring the news to their father.
Athelstan wonders, idly, how his father has taken loosing his younger son to the Northmen for the second time. Surely, Aethelwulf must be home by now, must have…
He remembers his brother's parting words.
"You tell him - before you leave England, you tell your Ragnar Lothbrok the truth. Don't wait. If he takes it badly, you will want to be able to get to safety among your own people."
It had been good advice, which Athelstan had not heeded. The coward in him had wanted to, certainly, but no - he needs to trust Ragnar. More importantly, he needs to show Ragnar that he can trust him, that he is willing to put himself entirely in Ragnar's hands.
But now they are out on the open sea and the shores of Wessex are miles behind them.
"Ragnar? There's something I need to tell you… about King Ecbert."
"I know."
"You - you know?" and he tries to sit up, but Ragnar's hand on his shoulder holds him down.
"Yes. Since I saw the pair of you together, during the negotiations. At first I thought he had taken you for a lover, but then I realized what I was seeing."
"Oh?"
Ragnar's hand tilts Athelstan's head back, making him look up into those sky-blue eyes.
"Your father seemed very proud of you."
A/N: written for simbridges, who asked for: "Prince-instead-of-Priest!Athelstan being kidnapped by unknowing!Ragnar".