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Desmond had prepared to die. He had said his goodbyes. He had done his part. The agony of the solar radiation still crackling in his nerves as he reached for the Eye was an afterthought. He’d made peace with it. Tired of running, of being a pawn in endless cycles of betrayal and bloodshed. His life, his body, his everything really— they were all collateral damage in this war between gods and their toys. Hell, he was made. With painstaking efforts. To end up here. A perfect sacrifice.The searing energy engulfed him, every fibre of his being stripped bare and rebuilt in an instant that stretched into infinity. He wasn’t even sure he cared anymore. What happens to him. To his body. The amount of fucks he had in his last moment. Ha. It's all in one hand. The burning, crackling hand that is.In this final moment, he heard Minerva’s voice, the world around him shattered. Time fractured. Space bent. He feels like he’s being sucked through something. And when it finally spat him out, he was falling. And falling fast. His last thoughts as darkness enveloped his vision were, Oh boy. I better not go…splat. That would be...sad. And messy.Floki’s dagger trembled in his grip, the blade glinting as the candlelight cast its light across it. His lips curled into a snarl, his eyes wild with the madness of a man wrestling with his gods. The conflict tore at him, his love for his friend warring against his devotion. Because deep down he knows. If he does this. If he kills Athelstan… he will never forgive me. But I must. I must save him. A small voice within him whispered with desperation, for the gods to say otherwise, impossible that may be, the gods do not often change their minds—A low rumble of thunder shook the wooden beams of the longhouse, causing both men to freeze. Floki's gaze darted to the roof. There was no storm...not even the cloud of one in the sky. Why…A blinding flash of light burst through the roof, accompanied by a deafening crack that made their ears ring. The air crackled with energy, the hairs on their arms standing on end.It was as if the gods themselves had answered the tiny, desperate part in Floki’s mind, he barely had time to react, in that instant of bright, blinding flash, his blade was knocked off-course, a body, a heavy body, crashing into him, the impact sending him sprawling. He hit the dirt hard, gasping, the breath knocked from his lungs, his dagger skittering away. Athelstan scrambled backwards, blinking furiously, palms on his eyes, trying to clear the spots from his vision.Floki’s muscles surged, pushing at the weight off him in disgust, expecting to find Athelstan. Perhaps the Christian had gained self-preservation, survival instinct, his balls. But his hands met unfamiliar bare flesh, the heat beneath his palm causing him to jerk his hand back, shaking it while recoiling in shock, it was...it was not him.Naked, sprawled across the dirt, his skin faintly smoking as if kissed by fire. The body lay on its...his...front, tattoos highly visible on one arm, lines that formed the unmistakable image of a raven with wings outstretched, its design woven through with runes so intricate, so tiny, but alive. Glowing brighter than the candle lights. The sight of it sent Floki back peddling, voice trembling. “The gods…The gods have sent him.”Athelstan's breathing was still ragged, his wide eyes darting between the unconscious man and Floki. “Gods? This cannot be... He—he’s—”“Not yours,” Floki hissed, a familiar hatred rising, of the priest’s faith in his god, for his part in leading Ragnar astray, and maybe, just maybe, a tinge of jealousy and relief at not needing to kill the man. He forces those emotions down, jabbing a finger towards the priest, “Do not dare claim this as a sign from your god.” then, gestured wildly at the prone figure, his other hand tugging at his own hair. “Look at him! Look at the runes! The light! This is Odin’s work! Do you see, priest?!” he spat, his grin unhinged, wild eyes darting toward Athelstan then to the stranger, and back again. “It’s not your god that saved you! Your pathetic god had no hand in this! Look!”Athelstan flinched, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stranger, the muscles on the man’s back, the scars, the golden glow still faintly emanating from the stranger’s arm. It was slowly fading now, the celestial brilliance retreating ever so slowly into the black lines of the tattoo. His throat moved, swallowing hard, “You... you don’t know that. This could be—”Floki spun on him, his face contorted with disbelief and fury, his hand pointing at him, then at the roof, and the very obvious, still smoking hole in it. “Your god? Your god does not fall from the skies on a bolt of lightning! Your god won’t carry the mark of the Allfather!” He pointed again at the prone body, his voice rising to a near-shriek. “This is not your pale god, hanging from a tree like a corpse! Look at him! Look at—”Their argument was cut short by the distant sound of shouts and the thud of boots against damp earth. The lightning strike had drawn attention, and a crowd was already rushing toward the scene. He froze, his wild eyes darting to Athelstan, then to the door. Ragnar, what will he make of this?The priest opened his mouth to speak, but whatever words he might have said died on his lips as Ragnar came into view, leading the charge with Rollo and Bjorn close behind him.Ragnar had been outside, speaking to Bjorn when the first rumble of thunder sounded. The air grew thick, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something's not right, he gazed out at the sky. It is not dark. There are no clouds.“Father, this is no ordinary storm.” Bjorn’s voice cut through his thoughts as they both stared out into the clear sky in bewilderment.Before he could respond, lips tilted up in a smirk, a joke just on the tip of his tongue, a blinding flash of lightning struck nearby, the thunderclap so loud it rumbled through them, causing the both of them to flinch, the ground beneath their feet trembled, and for a moment, he swore he saw the air itself ripple.The two men looked at each other, "By the gods," Ragnar muttered, already breaking into a run, his son right behind him, their long strides eating up the ground. As they sped towards the longhouse, Rollo joined them, eyes in the sky, at the thin wisping black smoke rising like a beacon, he saw villagers emerging from their homes, faces etched with confusion and fear. Fear of fire. Of houses burning before the flames could be put out.He pulled up short, eyes darting as he catalogued the chaos. There was no fire. Only the smoking hole in the roof, yet nothing catching alight, the figure lying motionless, the way Floki's still on the ground, wide-eyed and trembling, a dagger lying forgotten.“What is this?” Ragnar stepped closer, the crunch of charred debris under his boots unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. His gaze flicked to Floki, then to the unconscious stranger, to the glow, and then back to Floki. “Did you summon a god, Floki?”The question made Floki wince, then laugh, a high-pitched, jittery sound, wringing his hands. “I did not summon him, Ragnar. He came. He came with the lightning. The Allfather himself sent him!” Then his laughter faded abruptly, replaced by a strange look, his head turning, his eyes darting between Ragnar and the unconscious stranger.Ragnar’s expression didn’t shift, ignoring Floki for now as he stepped carefully over the now uneven ground, crouching next to the...man. His head tilted slightly, studying the stranger’s naked back. Young, lean but muscular, the intricate tattoo that sprawled across his arm. The raven stared back at him, almost alive, and judging. If he tilted his head, the lines, it almost looked... like a face.“Does he breathe?” Bjorn voice came from behind him, peering almost curiously over his father’s shoulder.Ragnar pressed two fingers to his throat, feeling for a pulse. The skin beneath his touch was unnaturally warm, hot even, as if the man had been standing in a fire. The moment he gets a pulse he releases his fingers, shaking them briefly, “He does. And he burns hotter than any man should.”“What is he?” Rollo’s stance was tense, having seen the burned ceiling, the charred floor, the fading glow on the man’s tattoos, his hand had shifted to his weapon as if he expected the man to leap to his feet and start swinging.“That is the question, isn’t it?” Ragnar murmured, his lips curling into a faint smile. He looked over his shoulder at Floki, who was staring at Desmond with a mix of reverence and manic glee. “You say he’s sent by the gods?”“Look at him! The runes! The raven! Who else could he be but a sign from Odin himself?” Floki nodded fervently as his voice rose in pitch, grinning almost too widely, "I was... I was about to..." His eyes darted to Athelstan, then back to Ragnar. "And then he came. Like an answer. Fell on me. Ha!"Athelstan found his voice, though it was shaky and uncertain. “Or… or he could be something else entirely. Something not from your gods or mine.”Floki rounded on him, his expression turning savage. “You dare—”“Enough.” Ragnar raised a hand, silencing them both. He knows well of his old friend’s hatred of the Christian god, and in turn, of Athelstan. It’s only a wonder that that they’re both still alive, in such close proximity. He knelt beside the stranger, now more prepared, his fingers brushed the overly warm skin of the man’s arm. Thumb rubbing at the ink. The tattoo was real, not painted, and it felt strange beneath his touch.He rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on the unconscious figure for a moment before sweeping over the crowd that had gathered. Whispers rippled through the onlookers, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe."We'll bring him to the Seer," Ragnar announced, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs. "If he is a gift from the gods, they will make it known."“And if he is not?” Rollo stepped forward, his hand still resting on the hilt of his axe.His smile widened, "Then, we'll just deal with him like any other man." He motioned for a few of the men to wrap the man in a blanket, then help lift the stranger, noting the heavier-than-usual weight. "Carefully," he added, noting their hesitation. "He’s heavy. And burns hot. Very hot."As they carried him back toward the village, the whispers began to spread through the crowd. The stranger's tattoo was more visible now, the intricate lines seeming to shift and move in the fading light."This could be... something else. A man struck by lightning, perhaps." Someone in the crowd murmured, loud enough that Ragnar had heard it, and if he did, so would…Floki whirled around, his eyes wild with fury. "You blind fool!" his voice rose in a shriek, spittle flying from his lips. "Lightning does not leave runes! Lightning does not mark a man with Odin's raven!" His hands gesticulated wildly, pointing at the sky, then at the gaping hole in the ceiling of the house behind them, the thin dark smoke still curling in the air, lesser now than before but still present, still visible. "And tell me, you simpleton, when has lightning ever struck indoors? When has it ever sent a man flying through a roof?"The crowd murmured, looking at each other, at Floki, at the house with the hole and at the stranger."—Look at us! Look, fool!" Floki continued, his voice rising to a fever pitch, gesturing wildly between himself and Athelstan, for the first time, touching the priest on his own accord, even if it was to grab the man by the arm and shake him. "If it were truly lightning, we would be dead! If it was truly lightning, we would not be standing here!”As his rant continued, the men carrying the stranger stumbled. One of them, accidentally brushing his hand over exposed skin was overwhelmed by the ever-increasing heat, loosening his grip. The limp body’s upper half slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a dull thud."Fool!" Bjorn yells, the closest and the first one to witness the accident, "Did you not hear Ragnar say 'carefully'?"The crowd's murmurs grew louder, but before anyone could move to lift him again, the stranger stirred. The other man holding him by the legs dropped it like hot coal, backing away alongside the villagers, a collective gasp rising, voices dying off, as the stranger pushed himself to his knees.Then his eyes snapped open. The sight had them backing further back...Because the man's eyes glowed.Entirely engulfed with golden light, and seeming to look beyond them all.The golden gaze seemed to focus on something none of them could see. Head tilted back, staring into the sky. His face contorted with rage, he speaks in a strange language, it hurts their ears just hearing it.The crowd watched in stunned silence as the stranger continued to rant at the empty air. Floki's eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and reverence. He speaks to the gods.Abruptly, the stranger let out a scream that sounded more like a war cry to the heavens. The sound reverberated through the air, filled with so much rage and despair that those who heard it felt it within themselves.Desmond roared, his eyes fixed on an ethereal form no one else could see, a familiar form. He feels anger burn through his veins, scorching him from the inside out, why is he awake, why is he thinking, why does he feel the ground beneath his knees, why is Minerva, fucking Minerva floating right before his eyes. "You bitch! Minerva! Is this your idea of a fucking joke? I was ready to die! I did my part! I sacrificed myself. You said…You said…What more do you want from me? What more do I—""I'm sorry," Minerva's voice echoed as she stared unblinkingly at Desmond, "We have done too much to you. But we can’t have Juno’s plans succeed. You’ve saved your world. Done your part. We saw our chance and grasped it from Juno’s hands. You carry our bloodline, Demond Miles, and we could not let you die. Juno will never find you now. But in saving you, we have changed you. I’m so sorry, Desmond. I am. Even if you do not believe me. Live Desmond. Live—"He drowned out the rest of what the Isu said with curses. In English, in Italian, in Arabic. In every language, his ancestors had imparted to him. His rage lined every word. Then despair. He had wanted to die, he had been Bleeding more often, and it was predicted that he would keep Bleeding, his memories would distort more and more, driving him mad. And what did Minerva do, tear him from his choice, for what? To live? How could I live when— A scream tore from his throat. Tears of gold fell from his eyes, leaving shimmering trails down his cheeks. The sight sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd.As his tirade ended, and Minerva's form dissolved in the wind, the golden glow faded from his eyes, revealing a warm amber, the tears turning colourless as the last of them fell. He blinked, suddenly aware of the circle of wary faces surrounding him. He blinked again, the crowd was still there. Okay. Not a Bleed. There’s an actual crowd. Staring at him. While he screamed and cried, he felt embarrassment churn within him.He hurriedly wiped at his face, he heard words spoken to him but they meant nothing. He blinked. “What did you say? I…I don’t understand.” Oh boy. Oh fuck me. I don’t understand a word this guy’s saying. What he’s wearing.Try…try German? Norse? Nope. Nothing. What…where the fuck did Minerva send me to? What world did—Ragnar stepped forward, now that the stranger was awake, he could see the glint of intelligence in the man’s eyes, the alertness, he spoke slowly, clearly, in the Norse tongue, then at the blank look, tried the others he know. To no avail. "Who are you, stranger? What brings you to our lands?" He gets words but he does not understand them."Priest," he turned to the crowd, his gaze settling on Athelstan, gesturing at him. "come here. See if you can speak with him."A ripple of murmurs passed through the gathered villagers. Some cast distrustful glances at Athelstan as he made his way forward. Floki's lip curled in disgust, but he held his tongue.Athelstan pushed through the crowd at Ragnar’s prompting, he tried Greek, the words flowing smoothly. No response. Then Latin, then the smattering of other languages he knew from his travels. Each attempt was met with the same blank stare. The same words repeated back to him. The same noise that hurt his ears and those around them, if only a little."I... I don't understand him, Ragnar. His tongue is like nothing I've ever heard."A man who falls from the sky, marked by the gods, speaking a language unknown even to Athelstan. What game are you playing, Odin? Ragnar crouched down, meeting the man’s gaze. The stranger's eyes, wary but not hostile, darted between Ragnar and Athelstan. Ragnar pointed to himself. "Ragnar," he said clearly, then gestured to Athelstan, “Athelstan,” then to the stranger.Okay. Okay Miles, introductions. Maybe charades. I can do this. Desmond opened his mouth to speak, then paused. Wait. What if my name sounds weird to them? Fuck. But Ragnar's expectant look and smile compelled him to respond, smiling back in kind."D̵e̶s̴m̶o̸n̴d̷," he tried, his voice hoarse, but the moment his name left his lips, he knew something was wrong. Fuck! What the hell was that? His lips slammed shut, cupping a palm over his mouth for good measure but it was too late. The air seemed to vibrate, and he saw the gathered crowd wince collectively, most covering their ears. The pain that flashed in Ragnar’s eyes and the hiss from Athelstan.A half-smile tugged at the corner of Ragnar's mouth even as his ears rang with what sounded almost like the crackle of lightning, and the sound of flames. Well, stranger, you've certainly made things interesting. "Come," he gestured for the stranger to stand. "We will take you to the Seer. Perhaps they can shed light on your presence here."As they began to move, Desmond stumbled slightly as he adjusted to walking again, to…having a body. The coarse fabric of the blanket scratched against his skin, the sensation and the smells reminded him of his reality. He followed Ragnar's lead, his eyes darting from face to face in the crowd.Floki sidled up next to Ragnar, focused intensely on the stranger, even as he whispered to his friend, repeating his words in his excitement, "Did you see, Ragnar? Did you see how he fell from the sky? How the lightning brought him to us? This is a sign from the gods, I tell you!""No, Floki, I did not. I was too far away. But if you say so, I trust you. And Athelstan." Ragnar paused, his gaze drifting to the stranger quietly trailing along behind them, the man looking around in awe and confusion, though he does smile whenever his eyes lock with another. A soft smile. "But let us hear what the Seer has to say before we jump to conclusions."Whispers and stares followed them as they made their way through the village. he was acutely aware of the attention, and his nakedness, not that it brought any shame just the notion of public indecency when... Just breathe, Miles. I don’t think there’s laws like that here. Maybe. You've been in worse situations...Okay, never naked. But Ezio has. So it’s nothing new. He focused on the ground, then on the…chieftain? Leader? Ragnar's
broad back, the intricate patterns on his leather armour a welcome distraction as his thoughts kept churning, maybe it’s a whole different world. A different dimension. But it’s definitely not the modern century. Oh boy. "Juno will never find you now," Fuck you Minerva. Of course Juno can’t find me. There’s no fucking technology here is there? Is the Isu even real here? Does Juno even fucking exist?"—Aye, if I were summoned from Asgard, from Valhalla, from wherever this one was, to Midgard. By Floki? I'd be crying too!" A burly man called out, eliciting a chorus of laughter.Bjorn snorted, shaking his head as they trudged through the mud. "You assume you'd make it to Valhalla, Ulf."Rollo chuckled darkly, calling over his shoulders, his voice pitched to carry. "More likely he'd end up losing his way, finding himself in Helheim, pissing himself at the sight of Hel herself.""Or maybe he's lamenting the loss of his heavenly mead. I know I would." Someone adds loudly, the laughter grows louder, and even Ragnar cracks a smile.“Maybe, he fell whilst in the midst of battle!”Ragnar raised a hand, silencing the bickering as the Seer's dwelling came into view. "Enough. We will know more soon. Wait here," then with a smile, he gestured for Desmond to follow him inside.Desmond hesitated at the entrance, something made him turn back, gaze lingering on Floki. There was something about the man's wild-eyed intensity that both unnerved and intrigued him. His vision flickered, auras rising from the bodies around him, his eyes darted from Floki to Athelstan, then to the man in front of him. Okay. Okay. Not a Bleed. But I have the vision. At least…at least this isn’t an execution shed. Or something.Then he stepped in, the interior was dim, heavy with the scent of herbs and smoke. The Seer sat hunched in the corner, face hidden beneath a hood. Unseeing eyes somehow find Desmond unerringly from lifted head."You bring a stranger to me, Ragnar Lothbrok," the Seer's raspy voice filled the small space. "A stranger with blood that is not of this world.""I saw his eyes glow, heard of his arrival on a bolt of lightning. I know he is not just some man. Tell me, Seer, what do you see when you look upon him?"The Seer's hand reached out, trembling slightly as it neared the stranger, head tilted as if listening to whispers only they could hear. "I see... I see the blood of gods, the legacy of beings beyond our comprehension...the threads of fate have been rewoven.” Suddenly, they recoiled with a hiss of pain. “It hurts to look deeply."Ragnar’s eyes flicked between the Seer and the other...man, still looking at everything around him like it was something new, something novel. "But tell me, what does this god-blooded stranger want? Why is he here?"The Seer's lips curled, "Perhaps, Ragnar Lothbrok, what he wants most at this moment is a pair of trousers. You've paraded him through the village in nothing but a blanket."Ragnar blinked, then let out a bark of laughter, he turned to the other man, he spoke to him even if he couldn’t understand him, "Come. Let's find you some proper clothes."As they emerged from the Seer's dwelling, Desmond's gaze immediately sought out Floki in the crowd as Athelstan approached Ragnar, "What did the Seer say?""Our guest. Is indeed sent by the gods. But for what purpose, we do not yet know." then his lips quirked into a smile. "And that he is in dire need of hospitality. And trousers. For now, he will stay with us, and we will learn from him as he learns from us." Ragnar clapped a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, feeling the muscle beneath his grip, like marble. The stranger looks at his hand in curiosity, then locked eyes with him, another small smile blooming on his face, but this close, the stranger’s eyes, his eyes hid a strange sadness. "Come. Let's get you dressed and fed. Then we can unravel this mystery properly."The long table was laden with food, the smell making his stomach growl audibly. He can’t help his eyes from darting to every corner of the hall, the intricate carvings, the wooden pillars, the furs draped over benches, over the floor, the candles. His fingers absently traced the rough-hewn edge of the table. I thought I was done, but now, I’m here. Wherever here is. No technology. No Templars. No Assassins. And no Juno…Fucking Isu. And their Fucking bullshit…Fuck. I’m tired. So tired…Okay. Okay look on the bright side. You haven’t Bleed once since. That’s good. That’s good right?Then giggling man, appeared at his side, the one that seemed happiest at his presence, “Floki,” the man gestured at himself then pressed a bundle of clothes into his arms and gestured towards a secluded corner, saying things he didn’t understand but knows from context that it’s probably clothes for him and somewhere to put it on.Clothes, finally. Grateful for the chance to finally dress, he took the bundle. He was about to turn towards the corner before a thought crossed his mind, alongside a flash of Ezio’s shamelessness, his brazen confidence, they know I’m a stranger. They’ve lead me to…some strange guy in a hut. Probably a wise man? What did those ancestors call them again? An oracle? Seer? Someone whose words were enough to light more blue in the crowd.He could hear Floki's animated voice next to him, regaling the others with the tale of his arrival. The weight of eyes on him, one in particular, he turned slowly, locking eyes with Athelstan. The man watched him with a mix of curiosity and something else."...and then, just as I was about to... well, it doesn't matter. The point is, this man... this being... he fell from the sky! Landed right on top of me—"Well… And they made me walk this far without clothes. Maybe it’s my turn to have some fun. Without breaking eye contact and without warning, he let the blanket fall to the floor, exposing his scarred and tattooed body to the entire hall. He sees Athelstan’s pupils increase in size while Floki stops talking, eyes flickered like he’s looking from his peripheral vision, a double-take before turning fully to him.A gasp rippled through the crowd from those who were watching him, and it was many. The sound attracted more attention to him. More attention and more gasps, laughter, giggles and great bellowing remarks. His eyes flashed with his Eagle vision once.
Athelstan averted his gaze, long that it had been already, long enough for a flush to have crept up his neck to his cheeks. "This... this is improper," he muttered, but his traitorous eyes kept darting back over the stranger’s form.Rollo barked out a laugh that echoed off the walls. “He’s bold, I’ll give him that!”Laughter rippled through the crowd again, but he could feel the way eyes lingered on his scars, the muscle honed by years of training, his tattoos."Perhaps... perhaps we should give him some privacy," Athelstan finally suggested weakly.Floki cackled, "Privacy? For a god? Nonsense! Let him dress as he pleases!"Ragnar's lips quirked into an amused smile. He gestured towards the corner, his voice gentle but firm. “Not here, my friend. Some things are better left unseen. Even if we…have seen it all.”Might as well milk this for all it's worth. Desmond blinked innocently, looking up from where he paused, bent over, as if the voice stopped his attempt trying to put on the unfamiliar clothing. He straightens up with his head cocked to the side, looking from Ragnar to the clothes in his arms and back again amidst more laughter and remarks.Floki tilts his head back and let out a cackle, "He doesn't understand, Ragnar!”"Aye, don’t stop him, Ragnar!" called out a voice from the crowd, "If that's what the gods look like, no wonder they keep to themselves! We'd never get any work done with such distractions about!"More laughter erupted, and he felt a grin tugging at his own lips. With an exaggerated sigh, Ragnar padded over, taking the other man by the elbow, and guiding him towards the corner. "Here. You. Clothes." he said, miming the act of putting on clothes.Desmond allowed himself to be led, fighting back a smirk. He could feel the heat of dozens of gazes on his back as he went, back straight, almost proudly even, the whispers and giggles following in his wake.In the relative privacy of the corner, he quickly donned the rough-spun tunic and trousers. The fabric was coarse against his skin, slightly itchy, so different from the smooth synthetics he was used to.Desmond now clothed at last, approached the table where food had been laid out, his stomach growling audibly. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread made his mouth water. He hesitated, unsure of the protocol here.Ragnar gestured to an empty spot between Floki and Athelstan, the tension between them like Ragnar had forced them to sit together. "Sit," he said, miming the action. "Eat."Nodding gratefully, he took a seat, acutely aware of the strange air between the two men flanking him. The tension. Floki's wild eyes darted between him and Athelstan, while the priest seemed to be doing his best to avoid eye contact with either of them. Well, this is awkward.He reached for a piece of bread, its dense texture unfamiliar but not unpleasant, tearing it in half. Without thinking, he offered one half to Floki and the other to Athelstan. Both men startled, freezing for a second, glancing at each other. Floki recovered first, snatching the bread with a gleeful giggle. Athelstan hesitated a moment longer before accepting his share with a murmured, "Thank you.""You see?" Floki crowed to his other neighbour, clutching the bread to his chest. "He favours me!"Rollo rolled his eyes. "Yes, Floki, and if you don't eat the 'favour,' someone else will do it for you."Athelstan, meanwhile, held the bread gingerly, as if unsure what to do with it, studying his face.That gaze upon him made him turn, his eyes wide, almost innocent, his mouth stuffed. He swallows once. Looked at the bread still in Athelstan’s hand then picked up another piece of bread, slowly stuffing it into his own mouth like he was trying to teach the priest how to eat, chewing pointedly before sending the man a smile through stuffed cheeks.Ragnar watched the exchange with amusement. Then he raised his voice, addressing the hall. "My friends, as you've no doubt heard, we have a visitor among us. One who fell from the sky itself, if Floki is to be believed." A ripple of laughter and murmurs passed through the crowd."But it was not just Floki," he continued, his gaze sweeping across the gathered faces. "Athelstan bore witness to his arrival too." He gestured to the odd pair flanking Desmond.A murmur rippled through the crowd. Floki nodded vigorously, while Athelstan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking between Ragnar and Desmond."And many of us," Ragnar's voice cut through the chatter, "myself included, saw his awakening—”Desmond paused mid-chew, a chunk of bread lodged in his cheek as he looked up at Ragnar, the man continuing his speech, the manner he was gestured at makes it obvious he was being spoken about. His Eagle vision flickered on then off again, then seeming to have lost interest in Ragnar and whatever he was saying, he picked up a hunk of meat, sniffing it carefully before taking a bite. The rich, gamey flavour burst across his tongue, and he couldn't suppress a small sound of pleasure."See? Even the gods appreciate good food!" Floki cackled, pushing a cup over.He tore into another piece of meat, juice dribbling down his chin. Then, catching Floki staring, the man had said something, but what? He blinked slowly then his eyes darted to the cup. Oh. I think I know what to do. Abruptly, he grabbed it, draining it in one long gulp. He slammed it down on the table with a resounding thud, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Another!" He said it in English, to the confusion of the others and the slight ringing in their ears, but his gesture couldn’t be mistaken.Rollo barked out a laugh, holding his cup up, and sloshing it all over the table. "He drinks like a true warrior! Perhaps he's one of us after all."The hall fell silent for a moment before erupting in laughter and cheers. He felt Floki clapped him on the back, but it felt like a feather touching him. He watched amusedly as the happy man had to shake his hand out.Laughter and conversation flowed more freely, punctuated by his occasional gestures and attempts at communication. He pointed at objects, cocking his head questioningly, eliciting a flurry of words in response.Lagertha approached, studying Desmond and flashing him a smile, nodding back to his lifted cup, before leaning down, whispering to Ragnar.Ragnar took a moment to consider, his gaze swept over the hall, lingering on Floki's eager face and Athelstan's…cautious one. A smile tugged at his lips and he said something that made Floki's eyes widen with delight, laughing happily, then turned to him, gesticulating wildly as he spoke in a torrent of words. "You hear that? You'll stay with me! Oh, the things I'll show you, the stories I'll tell!"He blinked, looking from Floki to Ragnar and back again. I have no idea what's happening, but at least they seem happy. He flashed them a smile in response, then continued stuffing his face with meat. He had a fleeting thought, wondering why he was so hungry, like his body was burning the food before it filled his stomach, despite the impossibility of that.When the feast began to wind down, Floki stood, tugging at Desmond's sleeve. "Come, come!" he said, miming walking with his fingers.“Come.” Desmond repeated in the same language, he rose, stumbling slightly as the strong ale made itself known, but only for a moment before its effects sloughed off his mind.When Floki led him out into the cool night air, he breathed deeply, looking around and up at the night sky. The stars overhead were impossibly bright, constellations he didn't recognize wheeling above him. The warmth of the fire behind him, the laughter of the people around him, even the rough fabric of his new clothes…for some reason it all felt oddly comforting. And it has been hours, he hasn’t Bleed yet since his arrival. And this, made him…a little less sad.Back in the hall, Athelstan’s eyes followed the stranger’s…the god? The unexpected guest’s retreating back, arm slung over Floki’s shoulder, Floki’s arm across his, their laughter echoed back into the hall like they had just shared a joke, even if the other man…god? Angel? doesn’t know a lick of their language. Well, that’s not true anymore is it? He had picked up a few words over the course of the meal. The very same...one... who had, just minutes past, engaged in what appeared to be a drinking contest with Rollo, and whomever else who dared challenge them, amidst rowdy laughter and chatter. Some challengers were still passed out on the ground and on the benches around the hall.He approached Ragnar, he watched his friend smile at Bjorn and a thoroughly drunk, but coherent enough, Rollo, then leave the table. Grasping him by the arm and leading him to a quieter corner of the hall. "What troubles you, priest?" his voice was low, almost gentle, always gentle, and always edge with that familiar hint of amusement and curiosity.His fingers found the cross at his neck, thumb tracing the familiar contours. "Ragnar, I... I don't understand. How can you all treat him so... normally? If an angel appeared among Christians, there would be fear, awe, prostration. But you... you feast with him, laugh with him. Drink with him."Ragnar leaned against a wooden pillar, his eyes never leaving Athelstan's face. He chuckled once, like he didn’t understand the question, "And why shouldn't we? Our gods walk among us, Athelstan. Should we deny him the pleasures of our company? The warmth of our hearths?” He paused, his gaze drifting to the hall's entrance where the stranger had disappeared. "He looks so sad, Athelstan," he paused for a moment, voice softening. "But when we give him food, and drink, and laughter, did you not see his eyes glow? How he smiles? He looked happy when we're happy. And so, we welcome him."Athelstan fell silent, his hand once again finding the cross at his neck, oblivious to Ragnar’s gaze as the other man slowly took in the furrows between his brow, his eyes.In the silence, Ragnar’s own thoughts turned to Floki, to the wild desperation he had seen in his friend's eyes earlier that day. The manner in which he had found Floki and Athelstan, they would have been alone if not for…How did he neglect his friend so much, did he push him to the brink? Floki who had always been loyal, perhaps, understandably, more loyal to the gods than he. And yet, by some strange twist of fate, by some blessing, the stranger’s arrival had freed them all from a terrible choice.Then, Athelstan frowned, his voice lowering, speaking before Ragnar could. "But Ragnar, I... I…The way he appeared, how he looked, his lack of modesty, the way he eats...Ragnar, he eats like one of you. It shakes me. If he's truly divine, but…but…but what does that mean? What does it mean when it’s him who saved me?"Ragnar clapped a hand on Athelstan's shoulder, startling the priest, "Tell me, priest, does it matter who or what saved you? You live. Is that not enough?” he eyed the priest, then he smiled, “He sits next to you, Athelstan, and he doesn’t seem to care that you’re Christian. Perhaps it means, my friend, that the world is larger and more wondrous than either of us truly knows. And is that not a beautiful thing?”He draped an arm across the priest’s shoulder, pulling the other man close. Then reached for a nearby table, grabbing a filled cup, “Come. Come. Let us drink to new beginnings and unexpected blessings. For I think we have both been given a great gift today, whether we fully understand it or not."Athelstan hesitated, his eyes darting between Ragnar's face and the offered cup. He took the cup, feeling the weight of it, the way the liquid sloshes as his hand trembled. The cup seemed heavier than it should be. But not heavy enough to prevent him from lifting it, or drinking from it. "To new beginnings."