Why do I even watch shows anymore this is what happens every time goddamn it
Disclaimer: I don't own Vikings.
Athelstan does not want to watch. But nor will he let himself look away.
He could be one of those men, one of the men being sacrificed at the alter. He almost was one of them. If his Christian faith had not saved him, he would have been up there, spilling his blood in rivulets on the ground.
It's barbaric. Brutal. This is proof of what his fellow English no doubt believe, that the Northmen are inhuman savages. For who else but an inhuman savage could do this?
But all of these men are willing. Athelstan must remember that. These men would not be sacrificed if they were not willing.
(Athelstan does not allow himself to wonder whether they were truly willing or not.)
Each man goes up, and Athelstan feels closer and closer to vomiting, to running, to crying, to screaming, to stopping this, to doing anything but watching mutely. But watching mutely is all he can do. He will not let himself stop; these men deserve at least that much. As each one dies, Athelstan clutches his cross tighter and tighter in his palm, silently praying for all of the men's souls. Halfway through the sacrifices, the cross has cut his palm to the point where blood slips down through his clenched fingers, dripping onto the ground. It seems Athelstan is spilling his blood on the ground, just not quite so much as the others.
He denied being Christian. That's one of the three things that hit him the most. First, obviously, is that he was nearly sacrificed. Second is that men before him are being killed in the name of gods that are not real. But third is that he denied being Christian. When the king asked him, he said he was not. When the man in the temple asked it, he denied it - not once, not twice, but three times. How can God forgive him for that?
Please, Athelstan finds himself praying. Please, Lord. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please do not punish these men because of me. Please let their souls find you in Heaven. Please. Please. Please. Slowly, Athelstan's prayers devolve into a steady stream of the single word "please," nothing more.
In front of him, the sacrifices continue and blood continues to seep through the fresh cuts, out of the men's bodies. At his side, blood continues to seep through his closed fingers, out of his clenched palm. But there is a difference, an insurmountable difference - the blood at the alter is for the false gods, and the cuts on Athelstan's hand are from clutching his cross, from his belief in God, his true God, the one true God. There is a difference. The two are not the same.
(Athelstan's not sure how big a difference there actually is.)
The last man goes up. Bile rises in Athelstan's throat, because this is when he should be sacrificed. This is the time that he should be up there, the time he should be sacrificed. But it's not. It's Leif, and he said he was willing, yes, but he did not seem to be willing to Athelstan. He was scared. The Seer scared him, as he scared all of them, into wanting to die for the sake of the others. Athelstan's blood boils with anger towards the Seer, a false prophet that leads men to their deaths. Perhaps he was right back at the monastery and this is the end; Judgment Day is coming after all. He does not know. He cannot know. And with his gospels falling apart, he cannot use them to comfort himself when they return home.
The knife falls on Leif and Athelstan gags, trying not to vomit. When the sacrifices are truly over, he will leave and go somewhere where no one else is. There, he will scream and cry and vomit and pray. Most of all, he will pray as loudly as he can, begging God for forgiveness for himself and the men that were just sacrificed. For now, all he can do is keep up his silent mantra of please please please and hope that God can hear it.
(Athelstan is beginning to doubt that there even is a God to hear it.)