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Athelstan is at a table, working away on his book - the original one, this time.

The page under his hand reads, in easily legible and emphatic writing:

His name was Leif Ericsson. When I stumbled, he lifted me to my feet, and he called me by my name.

And now he is dead, gone willingly to the gods in my place.

Under that, a half-done drawing of Leif's face.

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"That's quite good," Alana says, gesturing to the drawing. She hasn't yet read the words.

She's dressed to kill today, wearing a little black dress that cuts off at mid-thigh and her favorite black pumps. Her jacket is a understated white affair with the delicate outlines of red balsam flowers.

He looks up, smiling slightly.

"Hello, Alana. Thank you."

"Hi, Athelstan," she says gently, smiling a little. "How are you?"

"Oh, fairly well." He's alive, and going to stay that way. "And you?"

She glances to the drawing again, catching the word 'dead'. "Well," she responds to Athelstan, though the words pull on her now. "Lief Ericsson? What happened?"

He swallows slightly, eyes catching on the pencilled face.

"There was a festival. There had to be a sacrifice... it was intended to be me, but the priests refused."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Athelstan," Alana says, her fingers brushing over his wrist sympathetically. "Why did they refuse?"

"I don't believe with all my heart in their gods. Some part of me still holds to my own... and the men chosen for sacrifice must be faithful believers and go to it willingly."

Alana frowns at that. "They've put you under a lot of stress," she says softly. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a culture which participates in human sacrifice, even if the participants are willing."

"I knew they did. I'd seen it before, a girl who served the last Earl... they said she was willing, too, and perhaps she was, but she looked afraid when she went to the priestess. And then they gave her a drink, and the fear went away... Leif didn't look afraid. He smiled."

"Will you write about her, too?" Alana asks, resting her hand near the drawing for a brief moment. "That'd be a terrifying experience."

"I already have. Without her name, for I never knew it." He looks down. "I don't think I could have done as they did."

"Not being willing to die for a cause doesn't make you weak," Alana points out delicately.

"Perhaps not. If I was weak, I don't think I would have been chosen at all. Perhaps not lived long enough."

Alana nods, unsure of what to say to that. "Did you know Lief before this?"

"Not well. He was a friend of my master's... but he was very kind to me."

"You do well to immortalize them in writing and artwork, Athelstan," she says gently. "Using your talents to honor them in this way is very kind."

"They deserve to be remembered", he says softly. "No one should be entirely forgotten - and Leif had friends, but the slave girl didn't."

"No, no one should," Alana says, turning towards him. "Do these sacrifices happen often?"

"The festival is every nine years", he tells her. "And each time, nine men are chosen - and animals too. Between those times, I think only at the funerals of the great."

"That's still a lot of people, if not as frequent as I would have thought," Alana says, nodding slowly. "More than zero is a lot. Which festival is it?"

"I'm not sure it has a name. Everyone has just been calling it 'the festival', or sometimes Uppsala, which is the place where it's held."

"And why are there sacrifices made at this festival, as opposed to some others?" she asks, furrowing her brow.

"I think animal sacrifices may be made at any time, if a person has something to ask of the gods. But human sacrifice is much rarer - this is a particularly special occasion where it always happens."

Alana rests a knuckle against her lips, considering this. "How very strange," she says pensively. "It makes sense for them not to do it too often; there wouldn't be many volunteers. What does one get out of volunteering? Honor? Something in the afterlife?"