Inn Mátki Munr
oneiriad
Disclaimer: Vikings does not belong to me.
A/N: Fic fragment. Might potentially grow into an actual WIP if the bunny strikes, but absolutely no guarantees.
A/N the second: Soulmates!AU. Everyone born has a soulmate - another human who is the perfect partner for just them (sexual, romantic, platonic - no matter what you need, there's somebody out there). Sadly, there's no guarantee you'll ever meet your soulmate - geographic convenience is not a part of the package, and besides, the only way to recognize your soulmate is to touch them, skin to skin. Consequently, soulmates actually finding each other is a rare thing - not unheard of, but far from common.
This means that most people lead pretty normal lives with normal relationships - and sometimes a soulmate shows up and things, well, half the time it's epic love stories and half the time it's tragedies with lives getting epically fucked up right and left.
Different cultures interpret soulmates differently - for instance, in the Christian world it can be viewed as a great gift from God (if between an appropriate couple) or the Devil's work (if a socially unacceptable pair, whether between the lord's son and a milkmaid, two monks, a married woman and a wandering storyteller). Among the Norse, it is believed that when the gods want to show their special favour for a given person, they choose somebody especially for them.
Ragnar and Lagertha are such a blessed couple - of course they are (who was the favoured and who the gift is the source of more than one argument - and who claims which varies). Rollo, on the other hand, doesn't really expect the gods to bless him like that. He's fine with that, if a bit jealous. But then he and his brother raid Lindisfarne and he grabs the tiny priest his brother's so keen on keeping alive by the scruff of his neck to shake him a bit, put the fear of Rollo in him, as it were - and his world turns upside down…
Chapter 1. - Ragnar
Ragnar's scowling, scowling at the little priest sitting amidships, huddling with his fellows against the cold and the spray of the sea. This is not how it's supposed to be.
He raises his eyes to his brother, lets his gaze rest on the broad back bent over the oar.
That is not where he's supposed to be.
Ragnar sighs, leans back and closes his eyes. Tries to think back, to figure out what went wrong.
They had been in the temple and Rollo had stepped forward - and Ragnar had let him, confident that his brother would just scare the intriguing Englishman, just a bit and certainly that could prove quite useful. But then - oh, but then Rollo had grasped the priest by the scruff of his neck and both of them had stiffened, eyes widening and Ragnar had found himself reassessing.
Certainly it was unexpected and certainly it was a shame that he'd have to give up his half-formed plans to win the priest's trust the best way he knew how, but the advantages of the god-touched match outweighed that by far. Not only would they return laden with treasure, they'd be bringing with them a sign of the gods' favour so clear that even Haraldson would not be able to complain, had they ever so much disobeyed his orders - and while the priest's body might have moved beyond his reach, the treasures of the younger man's mind would still be his to claim, surely.
He had felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, had felt himself about to step forward to congratulate his brother - but then they had finally moved. Except - except the priest had started shaking his head, tongue stumbling between languages as he started backing away as far as the table behind would let him, chanting "no no no". Except Rollo had raised his axe in a whiteknuckled grip, had roared "This?! This is what I get?!" and Ragnar had almost rushed forward to stop him, except his brother managed to gain enough control of himself to stop, to turn and let his rage break asunder the wooden idol and not his chosen, before storming out.
And now they are here. And this is not how it is supposed to be.
They are supposed to be sitting next to each other, his brother's wolf fur draped across both their shoulders. Rollo's supposed to be apologizing to his chosen, apologizing for all the time it has taken him to find him. He's supposed to be telling him they're taking him home. They're supposed to be…
But they aren't. The priest huddles next to the other priest, the one shivering from the cold, still wet from when Rollo had almost drowned him in the shallow waters around the island while his chosen had looked on in horror. And Rollo rows and does not speak.
Eventually the wind freshens, the sail is set and the tent is pitched to give shade from the sea-sharp sunlight.
Eventually, Ragnar decides that if Rollo won't do his duty, well - there are things he wants to know.
The priest starts trembling again as he crouches down next to him.
"What is your name?"
"Athelstan" the priest manages, having to swallow twice before getting the word out.
"I am Ragnar Lothbrok. What was that place called?"
"Lindisfarne."
"England?"
"Yes," and then the priest raises his eyes to meet Ragnar's, swallows and wets his lips.
"What…"
The rest is lost as he looses his nerve, but it's not difficult to guess the question.
"My brother's name is Rollo."
"Rollo?"
Ragnar nods, then pushes the bulging leather skin he's been holding into the priest's - into Athelstan's hands. Watches as the man pulls out the stopper and puts the skin to his lips, a few rapid blinks his only outward sign of surprise at finding ale filling his mouth and not the stale water the captives have so far been given.
"Sometimes, my brother can be a bit blind when it comes to his own good fortune. You're going to have to be patient with him."
"Me?!"
Ragnar decides to take the surprised bark of half laughter, half sputter as Athelstan nearly chokes on the ale as a sign that the man has not completely lost the spirit he showed signs of having in the temple. Good.
"Of course you" and he slips his arm around the smaller man's shoulders, dragging him forward to plant a kiss on the shaved spot.
"Welcome to the family, priest."
He knows he shouldn't, but he can't keep from laughing at the look of absolute horror on Athelstan's face. Then he climbs to his feet and starts walking towards his brother, planning to try and talk some sense into him.