milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sinric sits on the balcony of the bar, a fur coat pulled tight around himself against the cold. The snow is falling thicker and faster now, lacing the trees and the gardens in white.

He sings softly to himself, hands hidden in his sleeves.

Those with a gift for magic might notice a soft net of gold glowing under the skin of his pale cheeks. Even to those without such sight, he looks better than he was, more colour in his cheeks and his eyes look less hollow.

Company would be very welcome.

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"Among his fellow monks, safe in his faith?" Ragnar says, sounding doubtful.

"Amongst his monks, yes. But not safe in his faith. Nor happy in himself. Athelstan was born to question, born to doubt. Even the night you came to the Holy Island, he feared the storm that carried you was the trumpet call of Judgement Day. What Christians have in place of Ragnarok."

"But why should questions only ever lead to darkness?" Ragnar asks.

"When they go unanswered. When those around you say you're foolish to ask. Or worse - mad. When no-one else can see that things aren't as simple as they seem. When finally you begin to believe there must be something wrong with you, because you questions."

"But he..." Ragnar says, sounding very unhappy and quite guilty.

"It would always be thus for him. Even safe in the walls of his church, writing until he was old and his eyes gave out, he would always be questioning. And those walls would become a prison over time."

He turns to touch Ragnar's cheek. "You and Athelstan are the pillars that hold up the bridge between two worlds. You because you seek, and he because he questions. It is who you are."

"But we are people," Ragnar says. "We love each other."

"We are people. We are parts of the great tapestry. We are toys of the gods." Sinric sighs. "We are ourselves and many other things."

"I guess I will have to deal with my love always getting overwhelmed with darkness and destiny," Ragnar shrugs.

"I'm sorry." Sinric pulls away a little, rubbing at his eyes. "The Seeing, it doesn't help. It doesn't fix things." His voice rises in distress. "I just wanted you to know it's not your fault."

"It is still hard," Ragnar muses, "to know that, even if it's not my fault, I can't help him to get better. We simply need to go forward, and I can hold him in my arms again in our world, take him home to Kattegat and my kids -- but he is just stuck, his decisions jammed up against each other, and so here we are, and unhappiness piles up. Helping you brought us closer than we'd been for a while."

Sinric moves to embrace Ragnar, in both support and apology.

Ragnar puts his arms around him and pulls him tight.

Sinric presses his face into Ragnar's neck, holding his beloved tight.

He brought the tree here because he needed his friends to be his strength, but he knows they need strength too. And he wishes he had more to give.

"I will always love you." He whispers in Ragnar's native tongue.

Ragnar buries his face in Sinric's hair, and sighs.

Sinric lets tears well and fall. Tears he has tried to hold back. Softly and silently they fall; for Athelstan so weighted down by darkness, for Ragnar so mired by helplessness. And for himself and his own selfish heart that wants them back as they were.

Ragnar holds him close, stroking his hair and back. In comforting Sinric, he may be comforting himself as well.

The mutual comfort helps. Sinric has been struggling very much with his place in their lives. And being held by Ragnar makes him feel more centred. And more loved.

"Sinric," Ragnar whispers, softly, not letting go. His voice is thick with emotion.

"Ragnar," Sinric's is no loss laden with emotions. Too many things too long suppressed. And all of them bubbling to the surface as heavy tears.

For all the powers he has gained, Sinric can't do the one thing he wants most in the world - his beloved ones happy.

Ragnar holds him, strokes him, wraps him up in his strong limbs.

"May I stay with you tonight?" He whispers into Ragnar's neck. "I don't want to be without you."

"Yes," Ragnar says. "You are always welcome with me."

Even if they will be achingly missing Athelstan. They had been together without him before, often, but not while they knew that he was in such a bad way.

Sinric nods, and tightens his arms around Ragnar. "I know. I just... I'm less sure about myself than I have been for a long time."

"After you wandered down the webs of destiny?" Ragnar asks.