asgardeventide | oo3 || text -> video

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oo3 || text -> video

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[There's a pause, before Athelstan finally switches over to video. His breath is coming in shuddery gasps, and he's obviously... not well. There are bruises and lacerations scattered across what's visible of his face, healing black eyes, small cuts draped across his forehead. There's not much to see from the chin down though, as the rest of him is covered in an old monk robe, vastly different from the patchwork leathers he had been known to wear before.

Frankly, he looks a bit like hell, but he keeps the video feed pointed toward his torso and face, his arms and legs decidedly out of the picture.]

-I'm sorry, [he manages to breathe softly, before refocusing and forcing a slight smile.] My writing seems to have suffered in my absence.

[There's another pause, before-]

The gods found me again and took me, but they neglected the crook I had been using. I- [He winces, disliking to ask, but...] -I need assistance to get back to my home. I can't... walk without it.

[Which is embarrassing enough. He opens his mouth then, as if to say something more, but he thinks better of it before long and shuts off the video- revealing a heavily bandaged hand, for just a split moment before the feed cuts off.]

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Athelstan? Where are you?

[her voice is soft and too calm, the sort of tone that gets stretched over fear so as not to alarm the person being spoken to. behind her, the background shifts as she slips on her shoes.]

Athelstan? [ here's another worried face ]

You're injured. Where are you?

The faceless people.

[He can see her face. He knows her. Recognition is muted though, and comes to his eyes a moment later than it should.]

There are steps in front of their hall. [Which, as he sort of manages to angle the video a little, becomes apparent that he's sitting on. So that's good, at least.]

I see. I'll be there soon.

[a short pause, in which she goes through a door and out into the street. her eyes never quite leave the screen, though.]

Sophia. Do you remember?

I am injured.

[He repeats slowly, his eyes lowered slightly, before he nods.]

...I know you.

[Steve isn't exactly a stranger to offering assistance to people he doesn't know. And this man definitely looks like he could use some help. A hint of concern flickers across his face as he replies.]

I can come help you, but I need you to tell me where you are.

[He nods, still a little shaken and disoriented, but that makes sense. She'll be here soon. He remembers.]

I thought this- this was a dream.

[ Gently ]

Yes. Maglor I am, and you have been missed here, my friend.

I've been here before.

[That's important. It wasn't a dream, and Athelstan wants this stranger to know that. His brows furrow for a moment as he glances around himself though, before nodding.]

The welcome hall. They brought me back.

[she smiles, just a little, but there's sadness in her eyes.]

Some days I do wonder. But no, for better or worse, we're all quite real.

[Athelstan closes his eyes for a moment, processing that, before inclining his head slightly, pulling his gaze away from the video and from her.]

I told you that I was ambushed.

Have I?

[It's hard to imagine being missed, not when Ragnar seemed to resent him so for choosing to leave him. But what choice did he have? What choice does he have now?]

It- it hasn't been long at all, has it?

[For you, Athelstan, video. Which features an unabashedly concerned woman frowning at the screen.]

What happened?

[the words settle cold with foreboding in her stomach, and she starts walking even faster. still, her voice comes out calm and quiet.]

You did. By those who had once been your countrymen.

[He can't do much more than nod at her words- she remembers well. He does too, as much as he'd prefer not to. As much as he'd like to keep the reality of his situation muted, he knows that she'll understand the moment she sees him in person. So Athelstan breathes, his eyes lowered toward his bandaged hands, and slowly speaks.]

Once. That was seven years ago, when I was still a monk serving God.

[His voice is hoarse, breath still rough as if in pain.] I turned away. With Ragnar and Lagertha and the others. I turned- I sinned.

[her mind turns back to the bandage briefly glimpsed on his hand, the line of shallow punctures on his forehead, and she begins to suspect. her teeth pull her bottom lip between them, briefly chewing at the flesh of it.]

Athelstan...

[she wants to argue it, to say no, it isn't so, that he's committed no sin to believe in what is real. but regardless of what she may see in her understanding of the world, she has an understanding of the church, too, and there is no room in those walls for anything more than doctrine. there is no room in them for her, either. so the words catch in her throat, and she doesn't say anything more. instead, she begins to run the last few blocks between her and the steps upon which athelstan sits.

she suspects, but she has to see for herself, and she has to see now.]

[Athelstan doesn't know what to say- she only says his name, but she says it with such horror in her tone that he knows she knows. His knees press together, legs folded under him to take the pressure off of his damaged feet- also covered in bandages, with light sandals strapped over them. It's too painful to wear anything else right now, too damaged to walk properly without some kind of crutch so he waits.

He can't do anything as she moves closer, but he keeps his arms down, sleeves pulled over his hands at some poor attempt of sparing her the sight of them. Athelstan doesn't meet her eyes, but he sees her shoes, her ankles, and he slowly tilts his head up toward her in response to her approach.

When he sees her, her hair isn't dark, it's a dusty blonde, her eyes big and blue, fingers soft and nimble. He doesn't know what to say, other than I saw them burn your body, so he says silent, watching her, forcing himself not to react as she draws closer.]

[How kind of you, especially considering that he sort of has to reciprocate in kind.]

...Evelyn. [See, he remembers things. Some things. Though really, a like minded person such as her is difficult to forget. The question, however, makes him shrug a little, his eyes downcast.]

Much has happened. The gods here, they sent me back to my world... for a time.

[sophie doesn't know that athelstan doesn't see her, that he sees a ghost where she's standing, but even if she did she couldn't fault him for it. hiding his wounds only confirms for her that they are what she fears. for a moment when he looks up at her, she can't even breathe. it's intolerable to tower over him, this man who should tower over her, to make him look up at her, and she crouches down in front of him.

the fingers that pick up his hand aren't soft, but they are nimble and so terribly gentle as she pushes back his sleeve to see the bandages wrapped around his palms, the fabric doing nothing to disguise what she knows is beneath. she cradles his hand as though it's fragile and precious, lifts it to her mouth, and kisses the back of his fingers.]

Yes, but...

[But he looks like the last five fights Jonathan got into combined, and his usual quiet nature seems...marred, she supposes, twisted into something grotesque and painful. She can only imagine what it feels like, considering how horrid it looks.]

Was it the Northmen? Did they...? [She gestures vaguely towards him.]

[Asgard or Heaven, it doesn't matter- Gyda would be there. He knows this, he knows that she would lift his hand and comfort him the way that small children do, knows that she would be strong for him and help him through the pain.

But when Gyda kisses his fingers, her hair grows dark, cheekbones higher, the overlarge clothing hiding a birdlike frame. He blinks the image of the child away then, confused, and his stomach drops out as he realizes the truth of it. This is not- he did not die, did he? He was speaking with- with Sophia, over the communicators. Sophie. The girl who kisses his fingers now, the girl who he had held and prayed with while her friend had gone missing.

His mouth is dry, fingers curling just slightly, though the motion makes him wince in pain. She can recognize it there, she knows. There's no point to hide it now.]

...when I raided with Ragnar and the Northmen, [he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper,] the bishop there told me that an apostate is the lowest of all creation. He said I would be caught.

[Athelstan closes his eyes then, leaning forward just slightly to press his forehead against the top of Sophie's head, as if he's too weary to keep it up for much longer. The next few words are only audible because she is so close, belying the emotion that he doesn't think he can show.]

I should have listened to him.

You have. You have friends here, after all.

[ still so gentle, as with a wounded beast, so unlike the cold prince of earlier, or the harsh taskmaster of the Citadel ]

No - not long. [ but Eldar have odd notions of time, so he qualifies ] A few days, I think - not more than a week. Have you someone to come to your aid, Athelstan?

The-

[The Northmen. Athelstan realizes immediately what she's saying and he winces for a moment, still not looking toward her.]

-no. No, they didn't. [Ah, this is sort of why he attempted text at first, even with his injured hands. Athelstan pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it. He finally speaks though, his voice soft.]

I was captured by the English. My old people. [He swallows hard.] I am an apostate, lady Evelyn. I was treated as such.

No.

[it isn't the protest of a child against the horror of the world, though there is horror in her voice. how could there not be? all the same, the word is soft and sure, her breath warm over his fingers.]

No, you shouldn't. You shouldn't let them tell you who you are, or what you're worth.

[her hand reaches, blind and careful, for his other hand, lifts it to her mouth to kiss those fingers too. there isn't a waver in her voice, but something warm and wet touches his hand where it rests against her cheek.]

Oh, my God. [Her voice is hardly more than a breath. Apostasy among monks, especially in his time period, is nowhere near her general specialties. What on earth did they do to him?

She wants to ask, but she can't bring herself to do so. It wouldn't be anything less than cruelty, making him recount his misuse at the hands of her ancestors to satisfy her private curiosity. No, what matters now is doing things, chief among them getting him some help.]

We have to get you to the hospital. Has anyone come for you, Athelstan?

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