CHAPTER FOUR: IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD
Dreams were harder to come by after that, Athelstan was worked hard. The cold ravaged his body as he helped outside with the soil and the animals. Bjorn was contemptuous, but Gyda smiled and showed Athelstan the best way to cope with such tasks. She began to teach him how to weave, which only gained him more of Bjorn's derision and caused Gyda to reveal that Bjorn didn't know how to weave at all.
Athelstan smiled faintly and found something like internal quietness as he worked at a loom. Was this what Nicholas had felt, when he had worked in the monastery's gardens?
He saw Gyda and Bjorn shift into their wolf forms, they didn't appear to be in pain though their faces and bodies contorted dramatically, bones and skin twisting and changing shape. Athelstan stayed still, not wanting to provoke anything. Gyda trotted over to him, butting her head against his legs and rubbing her fur against his skin. He was oddly touched that she would scent-mark him so much and claim him as pack. He hesitantly rested a hand briefly on her head before she rushed off. Bjorn did not go near him, Athelstan was glad of that.
He was always aware of Ragnar's gaze hot on his back, alongside Lagertha's keen interest. He was aware of their frequent touches, of how often they clapped his shoulder and leaned in close enough to brush bodies, how Ragnar always gripped his neck, especially now that Athelstan was free of the rope noose. He was being scent-marked, he was being owned. He was equally aware of how this warmed his body, of how glad he was when his work gained him their approval. He still sought God, still sought answers, but he also sought out the warriors who had enslaved him, every movement between them layered with meaning.
Guilt and confusion stirred within him and he prayed fervently each night, especially when Ragnar and Lagertha were loud together, as though trying to pull him towards them. His mouth dried and his thoughts became too heated and yearning.
Why do You throw me into the fires of temptations, Lord? What must I learn from this? What must I do?
God stayed silent.
It was some weeks after their arrival that Nicholas appeared at the farm. Athelstan did not notice him at first as he was focused on pounding clothing clean and so it was only when he was carrying his heavy burden back to the holding that he recognised Nicholas's familiar strong figure. Something like gladness broke through Athelstan's chest and he smiled welcomingly.
"This life suits you, cub," Nicholas told him, his dancing eyes sweeping over the clothing that Athelstan now wore, his old robes discarded on Ragnar's orders.
Athelstan's smile twisted. He didn't want to agree, though it was true that his body was stronger and more wearing now. His hands had gained calluses and his skin was browning. His tonsure had disappeared and his hair had lengthened. When he looked into the water, Athelstan the priest did not stare back. So who was he now? This person who talked with savage wolves about religion and farming, who was forced to learn how to defend himself and the farm, who found himself enjoying this strange family's company? Athelstan frequently asked God, but perhaps God spoke a different language now, because Athelstan was not close to understanding any answers that were being given.
His smile must have dropped because Nicholas raised his eyebrows, asking for an explanation. Athelstan sighed but was glad to speak in his mother tongue once more.
"I should not like it."
"Because they took you? You were given to the monks, some would say acquired by them. Now you are taken by Norsemen. You are fulfilled? You find peace here? You are not beaten or mistreated?"
Athelstan shook his head slowly, all of Nicholas's words were true but they sat uneasily in Athelstan. He should try to escape, but how? Who would sail him home again? Home. His home was ashes now, even if he reached England again, where would he go? Another monastery, to warn them of the Norsemen who hungered for the Lord's treasure? How long before he was taken again, or gutted on the monastery floor, his blood truly running for Christ?
"Athelstan." Nicholas was closer now, his expression kind but unyielding. "You cannot forever yearn for what is lost, it will not bring it close again. Doesn't your god tell you this?"
The Lord did urge His followers to embrace the present rather than live in the past. Before Athelstan could state this, Bjorn appeared, his face suspicious and hard.
"Who is this?"
"His name is Nicholas, he came here from England," Athelstan supplied quickly.
Bjorn sniffed the air and eyed Nicholas's neck, where the bite mark could clearly be seen. "You are mated."
"I was," allowed Nicholas.
He was still telling the story of his previous pack when Gyda and Lagertha appeared. Nicholas inclined his head deeply to Lagertha, a gesture he made look so easy. He was so comfortable as a human in a werewolf pack. Athelstan was surprised at the jealousy he felt rearing up, because surely his feeling and place as an outsider was good – he was a Christian man, not a heathen or a wolf. But the jealousy was still there, as Nicholas introduced himself, not presuming that Lagertha needed help in carrying what she had bartered for. He offered to help at the farm that day.
"I miss my pack," he explained, his hand nearing Athelstan but not touching yet.
Lagertha looked at him for a moment and then nodded, causing Nicholas's hand to rest on Athelstan's shoulder before travelling up to tussle through his hair. Athelstan smiled a little at such a familiar touch, he had not realised he had missed Nicholas so much until now.
The day passed quickly as Nicholas helped with the crops and fished for their supper. He sang songs with Gyda and admired her weaving. Lagertha watched him carefully but her expression was not angry and became less tight as the hours passed. Nicholas didn't look haunted or worried, though his sadness was still present, it was a veil rather than a shroud now. He knocked arms with Athelstan and smiled into the sun; Athelstan could not help but smile back.
Thank you, Lord, for delivering peace to Nicholas. Thank you for putting him where he needed to be.
Is it where I need to be too?
Nicholas was still there when Ragnar returned, carrying a brace of birds. He did not look surprised at Nicholas' presence and exchanged nods with him. Nicholas helped Athelstan prepare the evening meal without needing to be prompted, Gyda and Lagertha plucking birds with them and unearthing leftover bread. It felt companionable, and yet that sliver of jealousy reared its ugly head again in Athelstan. Nicholas knew his place here; he knew what was expected of him and how to behave. He knew when to push against an alpha's orders; he knew how to live in this land. And he enjoyed it.
Only, wasn't that what Athelstan was doing too?
Athelstan could feel Ragnar's eyes on him, so he shook himself from his contemplations and muttered vespers before eating. Nicholas spoke with Ragnar easily, revealing that he had found himself a small serviceable hut to live in, close to the Earl's longhouse.
"If I hide away, he will think I plan against him, or plan to run."
Ragnar snorted. "Haraldson's thoughts are too fearful."
"Then I shall strive not to make such a thing worse."
Gyda wanted to know about Nicholas's mate, there was pain in his eyes at such a request but he spoke of Jocelyn, gladly he claimed. "For if I don't speak of her, how will she live still beside me?"
"She is in Valhalla now," pointed out Bjorn.
"She is," Nicholas smiled widely. "But I treasure the memory of her close to my heart. It would dishonour her to do otherwise."
Bjorn frowned thoughtfully and Nicholas turned back to Gyda. "Her name was Jocelyn and she was as strong and as fine an alpha as your mother is. Her hair was red like the dying sun and she fought with blade and spear. She was the only one of her litter to survive into adulthood and her pelt was garnet and gold under the moonlight."
Gyda looked eager to know more, as did Bjorn though he hid it better. Athelstan wondered how long it had been since either of them had heard new stories. Lagertha and Ragnar were looking at each other as though they were remembering their first meeting. Athelstan tried to concentrate on Nicholas, on words that he had heard before in Lindisfarne's nurtured garden. But he realised as he listened that in fact some of the story being told was actually unknown to him. With Athelstan, Nicholas had held back. Here among wolves, he was revealing more of himself.
"I was a thief, hungry and living off the land. I did not know I had stumbled onto a pack's territory – wolf and human settlements do not often mix in England, humans know little of wolves but stories."
"What stories are we?" asked Gyda entranced.
Nicholas loomed closer to her, his eyes bright with mischief. "You live in nightmares, like the trolls or dísir. And you are monstrous, to be feared and prayed against."
Gyda giggled and her parents smiled at her happy reaction. Athelstan felt odd pride as he watched Nicholas's ease with the girl, at how well he treated her. It was a better sensation than the jealousy.
"Jocelyn was the first wolf to follow my scent; she transformed from wolf to woman before me, scented my neck and then let no other wolf near me. Her packleader told me I had trespassed and that I was to stay. I thought I would be maimed or killed, but Jocelyn spent many hours with me and said that she would claim me if I desired it. Some of the other alphas had told me that they would claim me whether I liked the idea or not. There was a reckoning for me and Jocelyn was victorious."
"She caught your scent," Lagertha said quietly, a knowing smile on her face.
"I was honoured by it and drawn to her. I knew that no other in the pack would treat me in the same manner. Before the next full moon, she had made the claim."
He indicated his bite which Gyda exclaimed over. Nicholas smiled at her. "You will be so claimed one day, little wolf, and you will be a good strong beta for your alpha, just as they will be strong for you."
"The balance."
"The balance."
"Mother and Father don't need a beta," objected Bjorn, his posture speaking as loudly as his words.
Nicholas wore an amused knowing look, which was echoed by both Ragnar and Lagertha. "Every alpha needs a beta; your parents haven't found theirs yet."
The skin on the back of Athelstan's neck prickled and he was sure that another conversation was somehow silently occurring also, as Bjorn protested that his parents didn't need anybody else, a fact which Lagertha disputed. Bjorn continued to argue with his mother and Athelstan's face flushed when he realised that Ragnar's intent hungry gaze was fixed on him.
Talk turned to other things then and soon Bjorn demanded to know of the battle that had ended Nicholas's small pack. Nicholas tensed and Athelstan raised a hand towards him without thought, wanting to ease Nicholas's pain. His hand hovered in mid-air, unsure at this new development, but the need to comfort overwhelmed everything else and he touched Nicholas's arm, a touch that Nicholas leaned into before he spoke.
He talked of how his pack had been surprised when the other neighbouring pack had suddenly appeared, dishonouring a treaty. He spoke of how much blood had been spilled, of how the packs had fought both in human and wolf form. Jocelyn had told him to stay safe, to fucking live well, that it would be a glorious death for her to defend him and her pack's land.
Nicholas had reluctantly obeyed her and had survived. He hadn't even been able to see her body afterwards, to lay her to rest. The conquering pack had burned all of the bodies without ceremony.
Gyda keened and pressed against Nicholas's side, a comfort which he accepted silently. Bjorn didn't ask any more questions.
After the children had gone to bed, Nicholas pulled open a bag and produced an oilskin-wrapped package for Athelstan.
"A gift from home," was all Nicholas offered as an explanation.
Mystified, Athelstan unwrapped it to discover, to his amazement, a Bible, and it was work that he recognised too, it had clearly been handmade at Lindisfarne. He gaped and truly did not know what to say. Here were the Lord's words, His teachings, something Athelstan desperately needed. Nicholas laughed softly and pressed a hand to Athelstan's cheek.
"Use your god's words, and Jocelyn's also – live well."
Nicholas slept in front of the fire without complaint. Athelstan stared at the Bible for a long time before going to sleep himself. He thanked God for such a boon, for sending Nicholas to him, for bringing him to this pack that provided needed warmth in such a cold land.
Are they my pack now, Lord? If I am to survive, they need to be. Am I to survive? What is Your will?
Ragnar and Lagertha made love that night; their noise interspersed with Athelstan murmuring aloud the beautifully-painted words on the pages cradled carefully in his hands. The combination settled his heart and drew him deep into restful sleep.