Random scrap of OOM
Jul. 12th, 2015 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thewidewideworldSet just before Ragnar's Trojan coffin attack on Paris. Written on the assumption that a) Sinric was in on the plan, and b) he provided the drug that made Ragnar appear dead.
***
Sinric stoppered the vial with a sigh and held Ragnar’s hand, feeling the beat of his heart slow and then still. “It is done. He will stay as death like this until the hour of mass tomorrow. The die is cast.” He lent over Rangar and kissed his brow, whispering words that to Bjorn’s ear, sounded like a blessing in some foreign tongue.
Bjorn watched this exchange with heat growing in his cheeks. “Who are you? How do you come to know such things? And how do you come to be so high in my father’s trust?”
“I am a wanderer.” Sinric answered, tucking the vial in the pockets of his sleeves.
“So?” Bjorn demanded. “That does not answer me.”
“It would answer you well if you knew its meaning.” Sinric sighed again and poured himself wine. “You know Odin was a wanderer.”
“You are a god?” The young man’s tone was harsh with disbelief.
“No,” Sinric spoke, half into his cup. “But like Odin, we wanderers give up part of ourselves, to gain knowledge of the world. But knowledge is not the same as happiness and sometimes the cost is too great.” He looked to Ragnar, death pale and still. “As your father well knows.”
“You speak as if you know his heart.” Bjorn spat. “You who have only been with us a few months.”
“Your father had known me many years. And I have known him longer.” He raised an eyebrow to Bjorn’s scornful expression. “We wanderers are privy to certain magics, knowledge earned at great cost. I met you father first when I was fourteen. I was offered a great and powerful wisdom – a foresight that would lead me on my way. Ragnar was the avatar of that wisdom, moved by the gods into my path. He was there for me also when the cost of that foresight was exacted on me. Without him, and Athelstan, it might have been my death.”
He drained the cup and poured another. “Many years later, when he was to meet me for the first time, I repaid his kindness. I gave him three gifts – a water compass, a sunstone and the name England. The path set that day would lead him west and to the greatest treasure of his life. But now the price had been paid and that treasure is lost to this world.” His voice cracked and he set down the cup. “And we will pay again and again before it is over.”
“You speak in riddles like the seer!” Bjorn growled, “Why can you not speak plainly!”
Sinric rose, turning sharp eyes on the young warrior. “Because, Bjorn Ironside, your father would never forgive me if you too were sacrificed.” Without a further word, he stormed from the tent.
***
Sinric stoppered the vial with a sigh and held Ragnar’s hand, feeling the beat of his heart slow and then still. “It is done. He will stay as death like this until the hour of mass tomorrow. The die is cast.” He lent over Rangar and kissed his brow, whispering words that to Bjorn’s ear, sounded like a blessing in some foreign tongue.
Bjorn watched this exchange with heat growing in his cheeks. “Who are you? How do you come to know such things? And how do you come to be so high in my father’s trust?”
“I am a wanderer.” Sinric answered, tucking the vial in the pockets of his sleeves.
“So?” Bjorn demanded. “That does not answer me.”
“It would answer you well if you knew its meaning.” Sinric sighed again and poured himself wine. “You know Odin was a wanderer.”
“You are a god?” The young man’s tone was harsh with disbelief.
“No,” Sinric spoke, half into his cup. “But like Odin, we wanderers give up part of ourselves, to gain knowledge of the world. But knowledge is not the same as happiness and sometimes the cost is too great.” He looked to Ragnar, death pale and still. “As your father well knows.”
“You speak as if you know his heart.” Bjorn spat. “You who have only been with us a few months.”
“Your father had known me many years. And I have known him longer.” He raised an eyebrow to Bjorn’s scornful expression. “We wanderers are privy to certain magics, knowledge earned at great cost. I met you father first when I was fourteen. I was offered a great and powerful wisdom – a foresight that would lead me on my way. Ragnar was the avatar of that wisdom, moved by the gods into my path. He was there for me also when the cost of that foresight was exacted on me. Without him, and Athelstan, it might have been my death.”
He drained the cup and poured another. “Many years later, when he was to meet me for the first time, I repaid his kindness. I gave him three gifts – a water compass, a sunstone and the name England. The path set that day would lead him west and to the greatest treasure of his life. But now the price had been paid and that treasure is lost to this world.” His voice cracked and he set down the cup. “And we will pay again and again before it is over.”
“You speak in riddles like the seer!” Bjorn growled, “Why can you not speak plainly!”
Sinric rose, turning sharp eyes on the young warrior. “Because, Bjorn Ironside, your father would never forgive me if you too were sacrificed.” Without a further word, he stormed from the tent.
