Sinric the Wanderer

"We'll be there," Ragnar promises.

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"Thank you, Athelstan." He touches Athelstan's sleeve again, just strong enough to share a sense of open space and joy at simple work.

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Athelstan smiles faintly.

"May I feel that again one day."

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"Do you want to stay in the bath a little while longer, or would you like me to help you out?" Ragnar offers.

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"You will." Sinric assures, having drawn the feeling from Athelstan's future.

He looks to Ragnar. "Will you helps me wash my hair? It's grown rather filthy in my time in the cave."

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Athelstan nods and slips out of the room, heading downstairs to get the sleep aids.

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"Of course I can," Ragnar says. "Lean back, and I will hold you."

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Sinric trusts his all too slight weight to Ragnar. As he trusts his heart and soul.

"I wish I could show him. Show him properly."

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Ragnar nods sadly. "Show him how important he is," he agrees. "And how" --- "loved."

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Sinric nods and let's himself float, letting the bath soak the filthy out of his hair and off his skin. The water will be a particularly gross colour by the time they're done.

"It will get better for him. I promise. It will get better for both of you." It will get far, far worse too but those threads are tangled and Sinric shies away from pulling on them too much.

Besides, it makes his eyes itch.

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Ragnar washes Sinric's hair, his limbs, the touch of the flannel as Michael caress as a practicality.

He would do anything to see Athelstan happy again. To love him again. No, he would give anything just to see him happy, no matter what he himself feels. He would sacrifice anything. Anything but his children.

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Sinric appreciates the touch, the care, but he knows Ragnar's thoughts are with Athelstan. He doesn't need the seer's gift for that.

He move to the edge of the bath and cups Ragnar's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. He many not be able to do this again, already the tapestry has become hazy. But he finds the thread he wants and shares it with Ragnar.

Ragnar and Athelstan training in a beach, private and away from the town, sparing and laughing. And then in a hut, curled in soft furs, loving each other, exploring each other.

Sinric lets go, very nearly slipping under the water in the sudden wave of weakness that overwhelms him.

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Ragnar pulls him up, getting quite wet himself in the process.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"If that is what the future holds, then he can put up with anything to get there.

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Sinric nods feebly, unable to do much more than that. He feels so weak, so drained.

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Ragnar helps him up from the bath and wraps him in a soft towel, and his arms.

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Sinric tries to help rather than being as limp as a doll. But he mostly fails. He hates this. Hate being weak, hates having been used again, hate being a burden to Ragnar and Athelstan. Hates that for all he's seen and felt and he still can't make it better.

Soft tears dampen his cheek as Ragnar holds him.

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The door opens in the other room, and Athelstan comes back in.

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"Let's get you to the bed," Ragnar says to Sinric. "Get you something to eat, and then the medicine that helps you sleep. Athelstan is back."

He picks up Sinric, wrapped in his towel.

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Sinric cuddles up, like a swaddled babe in the towel and Ragnar's arms. "I'm sorry." He whispers, reaching out to Athelstan as they join him, with his mind more that his hand.

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Athelstan blinks, sincerely confused.

"What for?"

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Ragnar carries Sinric to the bed, and puts him down gently.

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