Vikings oneshots (athelstan x ragnar)

8

welcome to my table, bring your hunger

salinebones

Summary:

Ragnar returns to the villa after three days on the battlefield, and he is blood-drunk, battleworn, and starving. Athelstan is more than happy to feed him.

Story:

Athelstan wasn't sure he liked Ecbert's court. 

The feeling of being important was all well and good, and he liked to translate back and forth between the saxons and the northmen, but as the need for translation died down, he preferred to withdraw into the shadows and watch the ever so important relationships unfurl as meaningless courtesies were exchanged. 

He was aware that most of it was just for show, nothing but hot air, pretty bubbles made simply to be popped. He felt somewhat out of place, as so often he did when around nobles; his hands too calloused for high lords, his speech too uncouth for gentle ladies - even despite his endeavors as artist, and poet, he felt he did not meet their standards. 

So it was that he stayed just out of reach, a silent observer to watch kingdoms unravel - at least, until a commotion just outside the throne room and a subsequent opening of the large double door drew his attention. 

Athelstan didn’t have to look to know who it was, but as so often, he felt his focus shift naturally towards the blond man clad in his battleworn leather doublet, his appearance and the excitable energy radiating off of him a stark contrast to the saxon nobles. Back from the fight Ragnar and his men had fought for Kwentrith, he was still spattered with blood, stinking of iron and rust, refusing Ecbert any of the usual court pleasantries with a hidden sneer. Almost flippant, he seemed, and Athelstan noticed a few of the lords and ladies whisper to one another under their breaths, no doubt some sort of insult. 

Ragnar was holding a horn of ale, and Athelstan belatedly spotted that he was deep in his cups - though hiding it quite well. The norsemen must have already celebrated their victory in the field, away from the silken fabrics and soft songs of the court. 

As he watched Ragnar making his way through the room - distracted as he always was, his head everywhere but in the moment - Athelstan's whole face lit up. He watched him as he paced around Lagertha, syllables, noise, exchanged between them, the soft smiles that always appeared on both their faces when they indulged in their banter growing on both their faces. They still loved each other very much, it was obvious in the way they held themselves around each other, in the way Lagertha barely hid her delight and Ragnar almost acted like a courting bird. 

For the moment, Athelstan was content enough to just watch; they would have plenty of time to talk later, he was sure of that, and he allowed Ragnar the space to unwind.

As the feast progressed to celebrate the victory over Kwentrith's uncle, Athelstan himself let a few cups of the King's expensive wine cloud his soberness; he regretted it, as Ecbert came to talk to Lagertha and him, to convince them to stay at the new settlement.  Only as he saw Ragnar observing  from a distance, leaning on the balustrade separating the throne from the rest of the room, Athelstan finally found a reason to leave Lagertha and Ecbert to their blatant flirting.