Sinric the Wanderer

{from here}

Sinric limps up to the nearest entrance to their room, heading straight for the bed. He can wait for food and booze but sitting down is a must.

"Come lay with me." He calls softly, spreading out the furs.

{From here}

Sinric can't bring himself to let go of Ragnar's hand all the way to their rooms. He hesitates a moment before gently pulling Ragnar towards his own rooms. They don't feel right any more, like clothes that no longer fit but it feels better than the empty place where Athelstan isn't.

But then he wonders if Ragnar would prefer his own bed, to warm the sheets left cold by Athelstan's absence with better memories.

The uncertainty makes him hesitate, biting his lip.

{from here}

Sinric leads Ragnar to his own small room rather than their shared space. There's something more... intimate about it. And it reminds him less of the emptiness where Athelstan should be.

He pulls Ragnar close, lacing his arms around Ragnar's waist and pushes up on his toes to kiss him.

Ragnar,

I fear in my haste and turmoil, I have hurt Athelstan. I'm not sure I can ask his forgiveness, not yet. But I ask yours.

Look after him, for I love you both more than words can say. And could not bear to lose either of you. Especially of my own doing.

Yours eternal,
Sinric.

***

Father Harman,

You know well I have little love for the church and it's ministers but Athelstan heeds you and so I appeal to you.

He is hurting, deeply and in ways I cannot help him. I fear in trying, I have made it worse. I ask you to look to him, and give him hope if you can.

For I must go, and fear only to do further damage.

I know you have little love for me but I ask you to do this for Athelstan's sake.

Sinric.

***

Athelstan,

I don't deserves your forgiveness so I won't ask for it. But know I love you and always will.

Sinric.

The acoustic in the tavern of Ribe were excellent for storytelling, passing sound down the hall just right.

Sinric was sprawled on a bench, holding court as he told his tale.

It was the story of Baldr, most beautiful and beloved of all the gods.

But with a twist. For everyone knew the story of Loki’s jealousy and Baldr’s death and the hands of the much maligned mistletoe, but what became of Baldr’s earthly family.

“For like many of the gods, Baldr walked among men, loved and been loved. For who could not love Baldr as soon as see him? Men had raised sons and daughters proudly, knowing their fair hair and sea blue eyes had been a gift from the shining one.”

“But Baldr’s death had sent a shudder through the land. And even those who did not know they descended from the bright god had wept and wept. Just as all the objects, alive and dead, wept to free him from Hel’s hall. All but the Sly One. “

He took a dramatic breath, hand over his heart to relive such a suffering. “The children of Baldr wept and wept till they made lakes of their homes. They wept so hard that their shining beauty faded and their eyes, once blue as the calm seas turned white as snow or dark as earth for all the water in them was wept away.”

Sinric held the crowd spellbound with his words, letting them wonder if this strange creature with his dark eyes and his odd looks was in fact a child of Baldr.

“And so they go still, Baldr’s tear-wrung descendants, till Ragnarök when he and his brother Höðr will make a new world and beauty will return.” He lifts his mead cup in salute. “Baldr!”

“Baldr!” Many voices call back, giving the skald a chance to wet his parched throat.

Sinric looks around the room as many voices come together to fill the silence after his story and more drinking goes on.

{after this and left here.}

To Athelstan and Ragnar,

Forgive me, beloveds. A thing had happened that had given me the great need time alone to think. You need not trouble yourself; it is not a shadow that falls on you, but stands between myself and another.

I have taken food and provisions, and look forward to testing the lessons you have taught me.

I will return in three days, before the moon is full.

Forgive that I went without speaking to you but my heart is heavy and I don’t yet have the words to explain what is in my heart in this matter. Know that I love you both with all my heart and will see you soon.

The Lark, to your Raven and Dove.

Dearest Ragnar,

I hope that you will forgive that I gone when you return.

Athelstan is well of body but of heart grows heavier and darker with each passing day. He prays me tell you he is safe and to come to him only when it is safe to do so.

He awaits your return as Winter awaits Spring - in darkness but with hope.

For my part, I find I cannot linger here too long. Athelstan no-longer needs my help in the weakness of his body, and I fear my company is no-longer of help to him.

For all the love I bear you both, I have return to my time, the better to hasten our meeting in Ribe.

I will return as often as I can and leave word for you when I do. I hope our paths will cross often but I hope more that the thaw of Spring will hasten you safely to he whom you love dearest.

Here within is a record of music - a Northumbrian lullaby that has been much soothing in the dark watches when fear crowds Athelstan's heart. Ask mistress Bar and she will give you such machines as is required to hear it. It is my hope you will hold him in your arms and sing it to him soon.

With all my love and in hope of forgiveness for my failings.
Sinric.

{From here}

Sin shrugs his jacket back on and wanders outside, arm around Ragnar's waist as they head for a spot on the far side of the garden to enjoy a quiet smoke. It's getting dark but there's enough light to see by, even as the first stars start to come out.

"The stars are different here. Different to anything I've ever seen." He packs the pipe with a practised hand, almost by feel. "When I was up on that mountain, I felt as if the sky was a silk sheet. That it floated down to cover me, touching every part of me. And each of the stars was a pinprick of ecstasy and agony."

He passes Ragnar the pipe and the lighter. The pipe is a little work of art in turned brass and carved bone, feeling old and warm in his hands. "It was the most amazing feeling."

{From here}

Sinric walks calmly till he is away from the bar and then runs. Something about Eric terrified him. Or thrilled him. Neither of which was good.

He ran till he came to a familiar door, Athelstan's. Having no place of his own and feeling that he owed Athelstan for interceding with Eric, he let himself in, meaning to wait for Athelstan's return to thank him.

He finds himself drawn to the window, sitting on the sill with his feet drawn up under him. He rests his head on his knee as he looks out over the lake, singing the elven song he learn this morning. The sound of it is soothing and he eases himself into a half doze.