Mine
Title: Mine
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Athelstan/Ragnar
Rating: PG
Words: 542
Warning: None
Summary: Floki did it.
A/N: Mine was written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2019 for prompt “confession in a desperate situation.” Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian! And thanks to the H/C mod for running this great community!
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Ragnar pushed the door open when Athelstan did not respond to his knock. The door creaked on its hinges, the cold metal whining like a wolf cub in search of its mother.
Athelstan stood before the small fire, his back to Ragnar.
“It is not like you to miss dinner,” Ragnar said, coming to a stop on the hardened dirt floor. “Are you well?”
He noticed Athelstan’s shoulders, vibrating like leaves just before they fall from a tree in an autumn wind.
“I didn’t think I was welcome,” Athelstan said, his voice catching in his throat.
“Athelstan?” Ragnar asked, laying a strong hand against Athelstan’s back. His fingers tentatively stroked the rough fabric of Athelstan’s tunic.
Outside the snow swirled, the gusts snuck through the cracks in the walls of Athelstan’s cottage. The flames leaped cautiously from the twigs in the fire.
When Athelstan turned, the soft glow illuminated his face enough for Ragnar to see the damage.
So, this was the reason why Athelstan did not join his family in the great hall.
Ragnar gently touched two fingers beneath Athelstan’s chin. He prodded lightly to take advantage of the firelight, so he could get a better look.
Athelstan cast his eyes to the floor.
Ragnar had seen worse. He tapped a thumb to Athelstan’s swollen lip. When he drew away and inspected the pad of his thumb, it was stained red.
Ragnar snorted in frustration. He strode across the room to the wash basin and grabbed a clean rag. Dipping the cloth into the fresh water, Ragnar squeezed the moisture from it before returning to Athelstan.
Athelstan’s head hung low.
Ragnar cupped Athelstan’s chin and held his face to the light.
The sounds of celebration emanated from the great hall. The happy voices only served to fuel Ragnar’s rage. But this was not a time for the fire to burst from within him. Not when Athelstan required warmth, instead of fury. There would be time for fury later.
“Hold still,” Ragnar whispered, pressing the cloth to Athelstan’s lip.
Athelstan flinched from the sting of the cloth against his cracked skin. His hand rose involuntarily and clasped at Ragnar’s wrist.
“Shhh,” Ragnar made hushing noises, as if he were calming an injured animal.
For an instant, Athelstan’s eyes met Ragnar’s, something that Ragnar deemed accidental because of how quickly Athelstan looked away.
“There,” Ragnar said, drawing the cloth away, satisfied with the job he did tending Athelstan’s injury.
“Thank you,” Athelstan said, meeting Ragnar’s eyes again.
The inside of the small cottage went silent. Ragnar could hear the beating of Athelstan’s heart as it pounded a nervous rhythm. In many ways, Athelstan would always be the timid monk that Ragnar had captured in Northumbria. It endeared him to Ragnar more with every passing day.
“Who did this?” Ragnar asked, doubting that he would get an answer. He would figure it out soon enough, even if Athelstan was too fearful to name his assailant.
Athelstan’s tongue darted out to test the pain in his swollen lip. He paused before he spoke.
“Floki,” Athelstan answered softly. “Floki did it.”
“I will make him pay,” Ragnar said without hesitation. He pulled Athelstan into an embrace. “No one goes unpunished when they damage what is mine.”
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Athelstan/Ragnar
Rating: PG
Words: 542
Warning: None
Summary: Floki did it.
A/N: Mine was written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2019 for prompt “confession in a desperate situation.” Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian! And thanks to the H/C mod for running this great community!
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Ragnar pushed the door open when Athelstan did not respond to his knock. The door creaked on its hinges, the cold metal whining like a wolf cub in search of its mother.
Athelstan stood before the small fire, his back to Ragnar.
“It is not like you to miss dinner,” Ragnar said, coming to a stop on the hardened dirt floor. “Are you well?”
He noticed Athelstan’s shoulders, vibrating like leaves just before they fall from a tree in an autumn wind.
“I didn’t think I was welcome,” Athelstan said, his voice catching in his throat.
“Athelstan?” Ragnar asked, laying a strong hand against Athelstan’s back. His fingers tentatively stroked the rough fabric of Athelstan’s tunic.
Outside the snow swirled, the gusts snuck through the cracks in the walls of Athelstan’s cottage. The flames leaped cautiously from the twigs in the fire.
When Athelstan turned, the soft glow illuminated his face enough for Ragnar to see the damage.
So, this was the reason why Athelstan did not join his family in the great hall.
Ragnar gently touched two fingers beneath Athelstan’s chin. He prodded lightly to take advantage of the firelight, so he could get a better look.
Athelstan cast his eyes to the floor.
Ragnar had seen worse. He tapped a thumb to Athelstan’s swollen lip. When he drew away and inspected the pad of his thumb, it was stained red.
Ragnar snorted in frustration. He strode across the room to the wash basin and grabbed a clean rag. Dipping the cloth into the fresh water, Ragnar squeezed the moisture from it before returning to Athelstan.
Athelstan’s head hung low.
Ragnar cupped Athelstan’s chin and held his face to the light.
The sounds of celebration emanated from the great hall. The happy voices only served to fuel Ragnar’s rage. But this was not a time for the fire to burst from within him. Not when Athelstan required warmth, instead of fury. There would be time for fury later.
“Hold still,” Ragnar whispered, pressing the cloth to Athelstan’s lip.
Athelstan flinched from the sting of the cloth against his cracked skin. His hand rose involuntarily and clasped at Ragnar’s wrist.
“Shhh,” Ragnar made hushing noises, as if he were calming an injured animal.
For an instant, Athelstan’s eyes met Ragnar’s, something that Ragnar deemed accidental because of how quickly Athelstan looked away.
“There,” Ragnar said, drawing the cloth away, satisfied with the job he did tending Athelstan’s injury.
“Thank you,” Athelstan said, meeting Ragnar’s eyes again.
The inside of the small cottage went silent. Ragnar could hear the beating of Athelstan’s heart as it pounded a nervous rhythm. In many ways, Athelstan would always be the timid monk that Ragnar had captured in Northumbria. It endeared him to Ragnar more with every passing day.
“Who did this?” Ragnar asked, doubting that he would get an answer. He would figure it out soon enough, even if Athelstan was too fearful to name his assailant.
Athelstan’s tongue darted out to test the pain in his swollen lip. He paused before he spoke.
“Floki,” Athelstan answered softly. “Floki did it.”
“I will make him pay,” Ragnar said without hesitation. He pulled Athelstan into an embrace. “No one goes unpunished when they damage what is mine.”