milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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?"

"Honor and entry to the best part of their afterlife", Athelstan tells her. "The place where the warriors go, or anyone who has died bravely."

"Well, that makes sense," Alana says, lowering her hand. "Soothing the sting of death with a promise that they'll be in pleasure afterwards, and honor their sacrifice."

He nods. "Also, the knowledge that they have died for something. To keep the gods happy and save those they love from suffering."

"There is that," Alana says quietly, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry you ended up in this position. It must have been terrifying."

"I ran away", Athelstan confesses. "When the priest told me the truth... but I think by then he'd already decided I wouldn't be acceptable."

"Oh, Athelstan, I don't blame you at all," Alana says gently. "I would have done the sane."

He nods.

"It just... came as a shock. I'm trying to understand... why. But I think only Ragnar can explain that."

"Ragnar?" Alana asks, furrowing her brow. "Is he the priest?"

"He's my master. He... offered me up to them."

And everyone knew except him. Strangely, it's not being told that upsets him most.

Alana hesitates, considering this. "I assume he was within his rights to do so," she murmurs. "It... That seems wrong to me, though that's because of the era I'm from. But that he wouldn't tell you... And sacrifices are meant to be willing... Something doesn't add up. What will happen to you now that the priests have deemed you unacceptable?"

"Yes. I don't understand either, if they wouldn't take an obviously unwilling man... I suppose I'll go home with them again. He's given me no reason to think otherwise."

"I wonder if this will change your relationship," Alana muses, and then shakes her head. "And I wonder what possessed him to offer you."