Sinric the Wanderer

Sinric comes into the sheltered courtyard, seeking somewhere to sit and think a while. It has been a strange few days. He meant to come quietly into to city, make a place for himself at one of the taverns singing for his supper and board.

But drawn in by the intellectual debate of the young men and the flourishing palace school, he’s caught out by his old tutor who recognises him - Alcuin, the new emperor’s favourite.

And now he finds himself lodging at the palace school, the centre of attention he never wanted here.

But the courtyard is cool and quiet and he sits down, letting himself have a moment to rest. Not noticing the young boy at first.

{from here}

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.