It has been way too long. My deepest apologies. Thank you to all my new readers you all helped me get back on track with this story. Here is a small bit of what I was working on before I fell off the face of the Earth.
Chapter 12- Family
It is said, that loyalty is the marrow of honor and that with devotion it leads to bravery; bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love. So much of what is best in us is bound up in our love of family, that it remains the measure of our stability because it measures our sense of loyalty. All other pacts of love or fear derive from it and are modeled upon it. Fear is the last thing Rollo Lothbrok ever dreamed of feeling, for he who fears is half beaten, and Rollo abhorred failure.
With wounded hearts, the Scandinavian men soundlessly drifted south to their homeland. They were sure the boat of Oslonian men would have docked by now and news of the stolen sword and treasures would soon reach Freydis. The gray rise of Katigat in the distance did not stir or lift the heavy energy looming over the ships but it managed to muster a cumulative sigh of relief from the company.
Rollo held his back to the north, which struck with a biting wind causing him to adjust his cloak's collar higher around his neck. Though he dared not look back towards Oslo he rested against the railing where Floki had ushered his sister over board. Rollo hadn't noticed Athelstan beside him at first until he leaned into his peripheral view. Rollo did not give any consequence to the monk or else he would have noticed Athelstan press his lips into themselves and curl his shoulders together in a shiver. The priest said nothing and turned his gaze back to the purple hills.
"You truly cared for her," Athelstan whispered, "possibly even grew to love her?"
"Love is a deception and a trap," Rollo scoffed. "Love is big a myth, one that Thor himself would laugh at."
"When a woman loves, they forgive everything, even your crimes; when a woman does not love, they give credit for nothing, not even your virtues. That is unforgivable" Rollo was uncertain why he was even listening to the priest never mind bothering to answer.
"When I was a young boy, I used to pray every night for a new whistle. Then I realized that Odin does not work that way… so I stole one and asked him to forgive me later." They both chuckled.
"Just remember Rollo, the weak can never forgive." Athelstan bravely placed his hand on Rollo's shoulder. "Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong; forgiveness is a virtue of the brave." Without another word Athelstan left Rollo to his solitude.
The priest reassumed his place beside Ragnar who leaned heavily against the hull with his arms crossed. Athelstan pulled at the ties of his tunic near his neck loosening the stings; the air was thick and hot once they passed into the fjord and his cloak was nearly suffocating him. "I am able to return to my wife," Athelstan began, "and you to your children with Lagertha." Ragnar turned unblinking to his friend. "What else is one to do when he has only himself to turn to?" Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked. A weak mind does not accumulate enough force to hurt itself; stupidity often saves a man from going mad. Ragnar understood that the inner battles of one's mind could wretch upon itself in the hours of hopelessness and he had never known his brother to be of weak mind of character.
The gray morning nestled the ship into the harbor along with the first nips of autumn that chilled the air. In the bosom of their village each man returned home with their dowry overflowing from their pockets and purses leaving shimmering trails along the overgrown paths. The pale underbellies of the trembling leaves signaled the approach of a storm.