Benediction (Vikings, Athelstan, M, Cold) 2/4(ish)

[lillian]

I haven't written in so long but here goes! Let me know what you think 

I love these two so much, and there's not enough Vikings content out there imo. If you haven't seen Vikings, this is Ragnar (left) and Athelstan. Ragnar is a Viking, and Athelstan is an Anglo-Saxon monk who was captured by the Vikings but eventually grew close  with Ragnar and decided to stay with them. 

Vikings, Athelstan, M (cold)

"hhh..."

Athelstan breathed in sharply, then let go.

"h'eshmpf!"

None of his companions acknowledged it. Athelstan had noticed that Vikings preferred to ignore physical weakness. Several of his companions lay on furs, next to fires, wounded, but completely alone. It was for their own dignity; fussing was for non-warrior women and children. Athelstan sniffled quietly and drew his cloak closer around his shoulders. He understood his new world, but at the moment, he wanted to be fussed over, just a little. 

His throat had begun to tickle a few days ago, after days of rowing up river in the rain, and then fighting in battle, also in the rain. As the Vikings regrouped, tended to the wounded, and planned the next attack, the tickle had spread up through his airways to his sinuses. Now his nose was inflamed and twitchy. The slightest breeze would-

"AESHgxt!"

-set him off.

He always sneezed more than once, especially when he was ill. It was embarrassing at the monastery, when he had to muffle his sneezes during prayers, but somehow sneezing over and over again in front of his new Viking companions made him blush even more. They had no qualms about unleashing a sneeze in whatever way it came out. They turned slightly to the side and freely expelled the irritant, then carried on with whatever they were doing. No fuss. Athelstan had tried this, but he compulsively ducked into his hand to muffle the sound every time. He couldn't pretend not to be bothered. 

He sniffled miserably and let his head sink into his hands. The fire was warm, at least. He longed for the comforting candlelight of the scriptorium; the familiar smell of parchment and pigment. His fellow monks felt sorry for each other when they caught cold, and comforted each other. Ragnar liked him very much, as did some others, but they steadfastly ignored every show of weakness. 

"AHGNXT!"

"Athelstan." 

He looked up, blurry eyed, sleeve held to his dripping nose. 

"'Excuse me," he murmured reflexively, congestion and hoarseness making his voice hollow and blunted. 

Ragnar stood before him, holding a horn cup of ale. He leaned down and pressed the cup into Athelstan's cold hand. 

"Drink," he said. Athelstan put the cup to his lips and drank, wincing slightly as the ale burned his aching throat. He coughed harshly, and sniffled. 

"Thank you," he managed hoarsely. 

"You are ill," Ragnar said bluntly. Vikings didn't waste words. 

"I'm alright," Athelstan croaked. For some reason, he couldn't admit he wasn't feeling well. Perhaps it was because he'd watched Ragnar suffer through much worse without complaint. Or maybe it was his own vanity. His head hurt to much to care at this moment. 

"You are not," Ragnar replied. 

"I am," Athelstan insisted. "I've just caught a bit of a cold. I'll be fine after a nights' rest." 

"But you don't feel well." Ragnar stepped closer, and crouched next to him. He looked at him curiously, tilting his head as he took in Athelstan's flushed face and glassy eyes. Suddenly, he reached out and pressed a hand against Athelstan's forehead. Finding it cool, he grunted and sat back. "You don't have a fever."

"No," said Athelstan. "As I said, I'll be fine." He tried his best to sound assertive, but his weak voice and stuffy nose betrayed him. He had to sniff again, and he felt the tickle in his nose returning. He rubbed his nose against his sleeve. Ragnar watched, his blue eyes sparking with something Athelstan supposed was sympathy. He didn't know what was worse, Ragnar knowing he was ill, or Ragnar pitying him for it. 

"What do they do--" Ragnar began, but Athelstan cut him off with a sudden harsh sneeze, barely caught in his sleeve. 

"h'ampf!"

"--in England, when someone is ill?" He finished, diligently ignoring Athelstan as he scrambled to wipe his nose against a rough scrap of cloth, which he'd found for this purpose. 

The tickle still burned in Athelstan's nose, and he tilted his head up in a desperate effort to trigger another sneeze, but the irritation had faded. Ragnar studied him, waiting for a for a reply. As he realized what Ragnar was asking, Athelstan turned to him in surprise. Ragnar had asked him many questions about his home, and they had learned a lot from each other, but he never expected Ragnar to ask about this. Vikings were tough, and prized resilience above all else. Whatever weakness befell you was up to you to sort out. But Ragnar was still studying him, his eyes now narrowed in concern. 

"Well?" Ragnar prompted, with an impatience unusual to him. 

"Um," Athelstan said, voice heavy and raw. He sniffled wetly and rubbed his nose again. The burgeoning sneeze was still teasing him, bringing him to the edge and then fading, leaving his nose irritated and stuffed. "They would bring you something hot to drink." He glanced up to look into Ragnar's inquiring gaze, then turned his eyes back to the earth. "And if you sneeze, they say 'bless you'--"

"As in God bless you?" Ragnar interrupted. They'd discussed benediction before, when Ragnar had asked Athelstan about prayer. 

"Yes," Athelstan said, smiling faintly. "As in God bless you."

"So they pray for you when you sneeze?" Ragnar asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's just an expression," Athelstan said. "Just to, um, show that you care."

Ragnar grunted in response, and sat back on his heels. "Well I show that I care by allowing you to be ill in peace," he said, somewhat petulantly. "We are different." Ragnar paused. "Would you... like me to bless you?" He asked, tilting his head as he met Athelstan's blurry gaze. 

Athelstan wiped his nose again. Not because he had to, but only so he had a reason to hide his face from Ragnar.

"Your face is flushed," Ragnar said. "Are you feeling worse?" 

"N-no--" Athelstan's breath hitched, and his eyes snapped shut as the ever-present tickle worsened suddenly. He gasped in a shaky breath. 

"ASHHOO!" He pitched into his sleeve, catching the sneeze as it ripped out of him with surprising force. Ragnar put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Athelstan sniffled blearily and leaned into the touch, his head falling against Ragnar's chest. Ragnar was surprised to see his friend so affected by something he himself would have simply ignored. He rubbed Athelstan's back absently as he rested against him. Perhaps the English felt these things differently? Athelstan had proved himself capable in battle, but he seemed completely undone by what looked to be no more than a bad cold. He sniffled again, harder this time, and Ragnar smiled slightly. 

"Bless you?" He said softly. Athelstan glanced up at him and smiled back. 

"Thank you." 

Edited February 5, 2021 by lillian

[starpollen]

I haven’t watched the show, but I enjoy this immensely.  I do hope you will continue. 

[lillian]

On 2/1/2021 at 3:40 AM, starpollen said:

I haven’t watched the show, but I enjoy this immensely.  I do hope you will continue. 

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I'm glad the characters came across even if you haven't seen the show

I will continue... I think I'm going to do a series of short fics. I have some ideas! I'm trying to think of ways to sneak in caretaking even though that's OCC for literally all the characters lmao. I I've only written one story where a character has the fetish, but I want to try again, maybe with Ragnar... 

If anyone has more ideas/situations they'd want to see I welcome them!

Edited February 2, 2021 by lillian

[lillian]

I've decided to continue this story! I have ideas for a few shorts, too. I outlined it into four parts, but these things write themselves so I don't actually know how long it will be. I had some fun with an old English dictionary for this part, so please humor the random Saxon language lesson. Also be warned of the… artistic interpretation of pronunciation and obsessive attention paid to Ragnar's inner monologue. It has a point, I promise. We're just getting warmed up. There won't be any outright slash, but whatever you read between the lines is up to you

“Heh….”

Ragnar jolted awake. He stared out into the forest, willing his eyes to see through the darkness and find the source of the sound that woke him.

“Hhhh… HESCHHU!” 

Ah. Just Athelstan.

“Euh..hih… HIT’SHHngk! …ughhn.”

“Goda… geblotse þē,” Ragnar said, the Saxon words jumbling together in his mouth. They held a sort of magic when Athelstan said them. Not lilting like the speech of the Vikings, or stiff and recondite like Latin. Some of it was familiar to him— þ, the sound made with the tongue against the back of the teeth, like Thor.

“Goda ge-blowt-sa thee,” Athelstan corrected sleepily. 

Goda geblótse þē. It was a quick prayer for another’s health, more for comfort than actual benediction. If the Christian God had to come down from heaven and bless every sneeze, he must not have time for much else. Athelstan sniffled and sat up on one elbow, then took in a sharp breath and jerked forward with a desperate, rushed, “HET’SCHHu!” He didn’t try to contain the expulsion, unlike all of the other times he’d sneezed in front of Ragnar. He immediately pressed a sleeve against his nose, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“You’re keeping your god busy,” Ragnar said under his breath.

“Mn?” Athelstan asked, surreptitiously wiping his nose with his sleeve. 

“Nothing.” Ragnar grinned. “Ge-blowt-sa thee,” he said, with a dramatic flourish of his hand. 

“Ic þancie þē,” Athelstan said gratefully. Ragnar involuntarily cringed at the heavy, miserable dullness in his voice, accompanied now by a noticeable rasp. He sounded much worse than he had a few hours ago.

“You sound like shit,” Ragnar said, keeping his tone light and conversational. He looked like shit too. Even in the dim light of the low-burning embers, Ragnar could see that his nose was raw and red, and his eyes glittered with tears as if he'd been crying. He sniffled again, a squeaky, frustrated sound, then let out a shaky exhale. Instead of responding, he searched the pockets of his tunic for the scrap of woolen cloth he’d been blowing his nose into all day. Ragnar leaned over to his traveling bag and pulled out a piece of clean, soft cloth usually reserved for binding wounds. He tossed it to Athelstan, who clumsily caught it. He buried his nose in the soft fabric and blew hard, need apparently overcoming his usual shyness about such things.

Ragnar waited for Athelstan to clean himself up. “Are you warm enough?” He asked. Athelstan nodded. Then shivered slightly. “You are not,” Ragnar said. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around Athelstan’s shoulders. Athelstan nodded his thanks, as if he didn’t trust his voice. Ragnar wondered absently when it would finally go. He’d noticed Athelstan was ill the night before, when he didn’t eat any supper, and trudged off to bed long before anyone else. He’d slept longer than anyone too, only rousing when Rollo shook him awake so he could restart the fire for the morning meal. 

He’d come to learn that Athelstan held on tightly to some of his old customs. He compulsively crossed himself when he was frightened, and he seemed unusually bothered by his own body. It had never occurred to Ragnar to cover his face when sneezing, or to carry around a little cloth to wipe his nose with. It amused Floki and Rollo greatly, and they had no shame in laughing at him, but Ragnar was curious. He had kept an eye on him all day, and it looked to him like Athelstan was only a bit under the weather. But he noticed a drag to his movements, and a propensity to stare off into space for long amounts of time. This made him worry, just a little. The longer he watched, the more obvious it became that Athelstan was greatly affected by his illness, no matter how trivial it appeared. Ragnar was determined to figure out why. 

First, he had to break through Athelstan’s shell of embarrassment. The former monk had stubbornly denied being ill, which only added to Ragnar’s curiosity. He also needed to make sure that if Athelstan became seriously ill, he would be there to try to prevent the gods from taking him. This was a common occurrence. Even the fiercest warriors succumbed to illnesses that had initially seemed harmless, but turned deadly very quickly. Their lives were hard; now made harder by camping in the forest between battles. Athelstan was not going to die on his watch.

“Athelstan, will you promise me something?” 

“Of course,” Athelstan croaked, confirming Ragnar’s suspicions about the rapidly declining state of his voice. 

“Never again lie to me about how you are feeling.” 

Athelstan stared at him in confusion. 

“But—“ 

 “I took you from that church, I brought you here, I freed you, and now it is my job to keep you safe,” Ragnar said. “I cannot protect you if you will not tell me what you need.” 

“W— hh… why… hyehhh…!” Athelstan seemed to be losing the battle against his rapidly hitching breaths. He held the cloth up to his face and gave in. “Hhih… hehh.. H’YESHHUU!” Ragnar watched as he blearily raised his head and lowered the cloth to meet his gaze. He waited a moment to see if there would be a second, as Athelstan was often not satisfied by just one, no matter how strong it was. But he held his gaze, unflinching, except for a slight flare of his nostrils, indicating that he probably wasn’t done. “Why do I need protecting?” he rasped. 

Ragnar rolled his eyes. Did he really have to explain this? 

Athelstan looked at his hands. Then back up at Ragnar. Then, eyebrows shooting up and brow furrowing, he ducked back into the cloth. “hh! HEXXNGT!”

Ragnar winced at his attempt to stifle it. “Let’s talk about this later,” he said. “You should rest.” 

Athelstan nodded, face still buried. He jerked forward with a wrenching, exhausted “... ETSCHH!”

Ragnar sighed and gave him a gentle smack on the shoulder. “Goda geblótse þē,” he said. 

[a_nonny_mouse]

On 2/4/2021 at 6:18 PM, lillian said:

 

Even in the dim light of the low-burning embers, Ragnar could see that his nose was raw and red, and his eyes glittered with tears as if he'd been crying. He sniffled again, a squeaky, frustrated sound, then let out a shaky exhale. 

This is the good shit. You have a nice eye for detail.