Work Text:
Athelstan sweeps the rickety floor boards, tending to the Lothbroks home. The children are with Lagertha, visiting family on the coast. That means the only face he'll see come home today is Ragnars. Which he would not complain about. But he had grown fond of the children; he'll miss them terribly. His feet were sore from the tedious tasks but it was nothing new to him. He was no stranger to suffering. Sometimes when he was alone, he'd inflict pain upon himself willingly. He believes that one must stay humble in what they are. And he was nothing more than mere man. A soft creaking sound catches his attention. He freezes and looks toward the door, that was now cracked open, expecting Ragnar. He heard shuffling on the other side. Like something was being dragged. He stepped forward with curiosity despite himself. His lips part in hesitancy, his hands tightening on the stick of the broom, the bristles were that of straw.
He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He started to feel uneasy. Against his better judgement, he calls out to whomever is out there lurking. "Ragnar? Is that you?" He inquired. But he got no response. "Can I help you with something?" He offers, leaning the broom on the long dining table. He knows somebody is there; a shadow stands still in the doors cracked edges. He walks up to the door, slowly, reluctantly. He reaches out, his heart pounding in his chest. He taps the door open with his finger, gasping at the sight. It was indeed Ragnar. But his bodily state was that of a tenderized pig. "What happened?" He questioned at the sight, spotting a large bloody sack behind him, staining the grass. He was a little upset that Ragnar did not respond to him before. "I got us dinner, but it did not want to be our dinner." He dryly chuckled, dropping the sack with exhaustion. Athelstans soft features relax. "What is it?" He inquired, wondering what could have roughed him up this much.
"A very wild boar." He retorted, smirking as he gently pushes Athelstan aside and walks inside. He steps out of his way. He stared at the gruesome sight of the sisal sack. His heart ached. He thanked God for allowing them to eat so plentiful tonight. He prayed for the poor animals soul. Closing the door behind him, he returns back inside. It was increasingly more dark inside. Even just a few moments outside made his eyes have to adjust. He eyes Ragnar, who was cleaning off the presumable weapon with a rag from his pocket. It's blood was still fresh. His stomach knotted up. He must admit, however, he was always astonished by Ragnars skill in brutality. Although again, Ragnar was the one who grew up in violence. It was only natural he'd perfected the skill. "Did it die quickly?" He finds himself asking. "The little fucker refused to sit still. It took as long as it needed to." He simply answers, knowing the faintness of Athelstans heart for such creatures but he could not lie. He knew he wanted the truth. He would never fully understand it. Yes, of course he cherished the animals his gods gifted him with. But Athelstan seemed to worship them as he does his god. Sometimes he would go days without eating just out of guilt. He seems to forget his body needs it.
Athelstan lowered his head in understanding. He can't having imaged how afraid it must have been. How much pain it was in. It was enought to make him lose his appetite. He repented to God for refusing to let himself eat this animal. He knows he should. It would be a waste of a innocent soul. But he just couldn't stomach it knowing how it left this earth. Ragnar notices his uneasiness and his smirk falters. He sets the blade down beside him on a barrel, the rag on sitting on top. "Don't tell me you will go hungry again?" He pleads with slight irritation at the thought of his hardwork going to nothing. "I cannot eat that meat in good faith if it suffered," He whispered sheepishly. "I am forbidden." Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Forbidden to partake in the gift the gods have allowed us? You are strange." He comments, shaking his head with a small smirk of disbelief. "My god does not allow me to have my necessities through violence."
"It will go bad before Lagertha and the children return. It needs to be eaten, monk. my gods forbid me from letting any part of its body to go to waste." Ragnar challenged. Athelstans hands begin to writhe anxiously, becoming restless. He was torn between knowing what he should do and what his senses allowed him.