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Sinric woke at dawn, as he had most of his life. He sat and watched the sun rise over Ribe. From the beach, he looked back at the little trade port as the sun crested the carved figureheads on the rooftops.
Hung-over and feeling more than a little sick, he felt... happier in his own way. A night of tears and a morning of introspection had helped.
He had said more to Ragnar last night, more than he should have. But Ragnar’s trust in the gods, in oracles and seers would cover that. It would be many years before Ragnar found the bar and years more before Ragnar would find him in the bar.
For Ragnar, it would be a beginning but for Sinric it was an end.
Just as it had been with Constantine, just as it had been it Yan. And Egrit, and Olaf, and Saga, and all his other lovers.
It was time to move on.
Tonight he would give Ragnar the water compass. Tonight he would sing his last songs for Ribe and in the morning sail with the first tide, or slip away and walk until his feet brought him to another place. His task in life was complete. What was left - belonged to him.
***
That night the tavern is a riot. Heavy drinking and boisterous singing. Knowing this will be his last night in this place, his last night as the person he has been since Ragnar foretold his future all those years ago, Sinric is determined to go out in style.
A Viking believes he lives while his reputation is remembered so Sinric plans to leave everyone here with memories enough for a lifetime.
He is standing on the table as Ragnar comes in, leading the perfect sing-along song for this sort of night. A drinking song that’s lewd, playful and makes everyone want to join in. The music is infectious, making even the most taciturn smile or tap their feet.
He’s in his element, the centre of a swirling cacophony of upraised voices and joy. But if anyone is watching closely, they'll see that for all the horn in his hand and his playful silliness, Sinric isn't drinking. Every time someone fills his cup, he manages to palm it off to someone else.
Sinric woke at dawn, as he had most of his life. He sat and watched the sun rise over Ribe. From the beach, he looked back at the little trade port as the sun crested the carved figureheads on the rooftops.
Hung-over and feeling more than a little sick, he felt... happier in his own way. A night of tears and a morning of introspection had helped.
He had said more to Ragnar last night, more than he should have. But Ragnar’s trust in the gods, in oracles and seers would cover that. It would be many years before Ragnar found the bar and years more before Ragnar would find him in the bar.
For Ragnar, it would be a beginning but for Sinric it was an end.
Just as it had been with Constantine, just as it had been it Yan. And Egrit, and Olaf, and Saga, and all his other lovers.
It was time to move on.
Tonight he would give Ragnar the water compass. Tonight he would sing his last songs for Ribe and in the morning sail with the first tide, or slip away and walk until his feet brought him to another place. His task in life was complete. What was left - belonged to him.
***
That night the tavern is a riot. Heavy drinking and boisterous singing. Knowing this will be his last night in this place, his last night as the person he has been since Ragnar foretold his future all those years ago, Sinric is determined to go out in style.
A Viking believes he lives while his reputation is remembered so Sinric plans to leave everyone here with memories enough for a lifetime.
He is standing on the table as Ragnar comes in, leading the perfect sing-along song for this sort of night. A drinking song that’s lewd, playful and makes everyone want to join in. The music is infectious, making even the most taciturn smile or tap their feet.
He’s in his element, the centre of a swirling cacophony of upraised voices and joy. But if anyone is watching closely, they'll see that for all the horn in his hand and his playful silliness, Sinric isn't drinking. Every time someone fills his cup, he manages to palm it off to someone else.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-11 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-11 11:12 pm (UTC)The song comes to its rude and inevitable end, causing laughter across the tavern. Someone hands Sinric a fresh horn and he sips just enough to wet his throat before handing it off to someone else as he climbs down from the table.
“Story!” A voice calls and is taken up by others. “Story!”
Sinric laughs, “Alright, alright.” He catches Ragnar’s eyes, his own dancing. “But what sort of story would you have? I know many.” The question is put to the room but it’s Ragnar’s eyes he holds – deep brown meeting piecing blue.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-11 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:03 am (UTC)Sinric nods and smiles, his voice becoming gentler – a storyteller's tone. “It is true that to the Far East, their ways are different but some are very similar. Some of their gods could be our own,” subtly including himself as one of the Northman, “using different names and guises. Gods and Goddesses of sea and air, of crops and fertility, of war and thunder.”
“They have two great beasts that are said to protect their lands – the dragon and the phoenix.”
He launches into a story about the dragons – protector of waterfalls, lakes and the seas. Weaving a tale of marshal strength and power. He tells of how their sperm became a hard green stone called Jade, beloved of the royal house as sign of their right to rule.
Then he tells of the phoenix, protectors of the skies and mountains, of the high places. Keepers of wisdom, of virtue, fidelity and grace. How their burning feathers make up the stars and the wake of their wings are the winds that blow from the corners of the world.
He weaves the story of a prince who fashioned himself as dragon with amour made of jade. A man of ambition and brutality who conquered many lands but who forgot the virtues of the phoenix and so lost the trust and loyalty of his men. And little by little his great kingdom blow away from him like ash from a cold fire.
He weaves a story of balance between the strength and wisdom, between fire and water. And without being too overt – between the masculine and the feminine. The room barely stirs as he speaks, the flames of the fire pit seeming to dance and curl to illustrate his tale.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:24 am (UTC)Till someone up the back calls out. "Dragon cum would make shit armour!"
The room devolves into laughter, Sinric too and the tavern keeper makes the most of the chance to sell more mead, as no-one had stirred while Sinric was talking.
Sinric accepts a cup and sips it lightly, eyes searching for Ragnar over the rim of it.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 11:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:03 pm (UTC)"What does a dragon's seed do to a human woman?" asks a shieldmaiden drop a near y table, which brings more jokes and speculations
"Can you show us?" Ragnar asks.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:11 pm (UTC)"Very little, I fear." He addresses the shieldmaiden. "Once it falls to earth it becomes stone. Although wearing it as jewelry is believed to increase virility in even the most lacklustre of men."
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:28 pm (UTC)"Then one tiny piece of it would be treasured beyond gold and rubies," the shieldmaiden muses. "Not that my Olaf would have any need of it."
There is laughter.
"He's got need of the opposite," another female voice giggles.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 12:58 pm (UTC)Inside is a little carving of a dragon in mottled green and white stone, smooth as ice. Its eyes flashing with tiny chips of ruby, it's claws see with gold clutching a single perfect pearl. He holds it out for them to see, careful with the delicate thing.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:11 pm (UTC)"I have another piece of what is called imperial Jade, a much deeper green but that is a private thing and not so beautiful as the dragon."
He distracts them from the shiny thing by pouring a clear liquor from the white ceramic bottle into a shallow cup.
"This is the last of the rice wine I brought with me from the Far East. It is very strong and there is little of it left but for those who would take only a sip, there is enough for a few to try." He offers the cup to Ragnar first, then to the shieldmaiden.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-12 01:55 pm (UTC)The shieldmaiden does better, and announces she likes it, even if it is likely to be phoenix seed.
"Sorry," Ragnar murmurs.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 12:41 am (UTC)He smiles to the shieldmaiden. "It has been called that but I wasn't sure how many people would be willing to drink it."
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 12:49 am (UTC)Her companions can't agree whether that Olaf is a lucky man, or needs rescuing, and much laughter follows, during which many of those present taste the sake.
"Now they drink your last reserve," Ragnar says, quietly remorseful.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 01:03 am (UTC)He shrugs to Ragnar, his lips curling in a half smile. "I will be leaving this place soon. I'll travel all the lighter without it. Besides, the men of Ribe will thank me in the morning."
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 01:09 am (UTC)His blue eyes glitter at Sinric, amused and shrewd at once.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 01:19 am (UTC)He moves to the ladies and starts weaving a story about the powerful effects of Phoenix seed on a woman's desires in conspiratorial whispers.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-13 02:10 am (UTC)He's so short!