Sinric the Wanderer

"There would have to be lesser masters below them," Ragnar muses.

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"Of that level, only one. But he had four apprentices that study under him and four more who have each made three swords with him and can call themselves masters in their own right. But none match him yet."

Three swords translates to a thirty year apprenticeship.

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"How does a man prove himself worthy to be an apprentice to such a great master?"

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"Must he pledge his life to the master?" Ragnar guesses.

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"To be honest, I don't know. But I know they dedicate their lives to learn the art - to take no wives, nor family. To focus utterly on the art of it. Even though they earn well for their work, they donate most of what they make to the temple, to avoid the temptations of wealth."

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"They live as monks, then?" Athelstan says thoughtfully. "But in the service of their art, not of any god."

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"And the work is its own reward?" Ragnar says. "Just the way Floki builds boats. I suspect he wouldn't mind if all his reward would be boats existing."

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"Just so." Sinric smiles, reaching out on offer to wash Athelstan's back. "It would seem they approach it with much the same devotion. That the creation of a sword that is as near to perfect as human hands may make is their life's goal. And for that, masters and artisans in many fields are revered."

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Athelstan turns to allow him to.

"Boats - or swords, or whatever else their craft is - that are tested and prove their quality."

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"I think perfection goes much further," Ragnar muses. "It must be nearly hopeless to ever reach it. The last few steps are the hardest."

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"Balance, beauty, fit to the one it is made for." He rubs Athelstan's back softly, massaging as much as washing. "I suppose there is some measure in the master's mind as how one defines perfection."

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"But anyone with a little knowledge can tell a fine sword from a poor one."

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"But not a very fine sword from that made by a unique master," Ragnar says. "For that, you have to know a lot about swords."

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"And a master of worth would never think to allow anything less to leave is workshop." Sinric nods, pressing an absent kiss to Athelstan's shoulder as he rubs.

"Sometimes a blade is almost good enough but not quite. They are sometimes broken and turned into smaller knives if the blades are suitable."

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Athelstan allows the touches.

"Depending on where the flaw is?"

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"That is very strict," Ragnar says. "If Floki had built each boat he was having second thoughts about over again, we'd still not have left."

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Sinric gently rinses off Athelstan's back, offering to do the same with his hair. "For practical things like ships, I suppose one must accept there are time limits that must be obeyed. Tides and the such."

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He leans his head back into Sinric's hands.

"But the tides will come around again, so that wouldn't stop a true perfectionist."

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"Fortunately, we managed to convince him that his boats were good enough," Ragnar grins.

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Sinric chuckles and massages the shampoo into Athelstan's scalp, offering affection and contact without pressure.

"I know he has been troublesome to you, Athelstan, but I think one day I'd like to meet this Floki properly."

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"He's a genius at what he does", Athelstan says without hesitation. "And he might take to you better than to me."

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"Sometimes I think," Ragnar says, "that Floki is very curious about Athelstan and his beliefs and culture, so distrusting that curiosity, he is especially mean to him."

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"People are often afraid of what they don't understand. Especially if it threatens something they hold as true. I think it why men who are attracted to me thinking I'm a woman get so angry. They fear I have threatened something they believe about themselves."

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Athelstan shakes his head.

"I never meant to be a threat to anyone."

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