Chapter Text
The late day sun peeked through a grated window and of course, the only visible beams landed on a monk, scribing alone, his hair long, and his palms scarred. Athelstan. Athelstan was a man of culture, and a man of faith. He had been living amongst Pagan Vikings for God knows how long. For a moment, he assimilated into their culture, but he could never truly escape his Saxon roots, and therefore, he was punished. Nails were dug into his hands, stretched out across a wooden cross like his savior. But all of a sudden, he was saved, saved by a king, and now, he was working for him.
A friend he made in the Northern countries, his dear Ragnar, had told him he had an effect on people, but he didn't believe him until now. Athelstan sighed as he continued to work. Kattegat was a place for Pagans. He wasn't all too sure he was one of them just as much as he wasn't too sure he was a complete Christian, but Kattegat felt like home. Every time he was with Ragnar, with his now ex-wife, Lagertha, and with his Vikings friends, he felt a warmth in his stomach that never seemed to go away, a warmth that made him smile. But they were still Pagans, how on earth could he love them?
These confusing thoughts wandered around Athelstan's mind, hoping to find a piece of his brain to stick. His love for Kattegat, his love for his birth home, and the pain they have both brought him at times was too much of an overwhelming feeling to bear.
Athelstan halted, shutting his eyes and reopening them to collect his thoughts, but he still felt pained. As his head panged with uncertainty, fear, anguish, confusion, and other emotions that were too complex to be named, he heard a noise beside him.
Although a faint and foreign noise, it made Athelstan perk up in almost an instant. Was it the Vikings ready to reclaim him, or was it King Ecbert's men finally looking to end his life? Athelstan was shocked at the true answer. When he looked toward the door, he was met with two large hazel eyes staring at him with much curiosity. Athelstan tilted his head in confusion when he saw a pale purple dress with a white chemise under it peeking its way over the door frame. Athelstan looked up and saw dark brown, almost black in color, hair and finally a face. He saw the face of a little girl, no older than eleven yet no younger than eight staring at him. Was this another one of his illusions? This couldn't be an illusion of something he wish he had, he had no desire to be a father during his time as a monk; he was celibate. Was.
Athelstan rubbed his eyes, when his hands came down from his hands, that girl was still there. Her head leaned in, interested by his every move. Slightly amused by this strange child's misdemeanor, Athelstan finally spoke. "Hello," he said. "Who are you?" The girl started to rethink her decision, backing up. "It's alright, I won't hurt you," Athelstan calm and inviting voice made the girl step inside, her hands behind her back, and her eyes hopping around every little thing in the room before landing on Athelstan with a smirk. "Hello, monk," she said, approaching his chair. "Good day," Athelstan slightly chuckled as she stood on the base of the chair and reached for Athelstan's hair. "I like your hair, monk, it's so soft," she said, twirling her fingers through his pulled up hair. Athelstan let out a soft giggle. "Where is your mother?" he asked. "I don't know," she said. "I do not have a mother," Athelstan's smile slightly faltered as his heart mourned for this motherless child, but that still didn't answer the multitude of questions he had. "What about a father?" the girl shook her head, hopping down from the chair and examining the rest of Athelstan. "Then where did you come from?"
"Outside," her eyes landed on Athelstan's scars and her fingers brushed against the one on his left hand. "What happened to your hands?" Athelstan quickly jerked away, becoming defensive, he wouldn't discuss such things with a grown man never mind a child. "How did you find your way in here?"
"Somebody left the door without it's lock. I've never been in here before so I thought I'd give it a try." the girl continued to pry about his hands. "Does it hurt?" Athelstan shook his head, turning to the open door hoping, praying, that King Ecbert didn't hear their conversation. "No," Athelstan lied to hurry their conversation. "What's your name, monk?" the girl asked, moving on the other side of the chair to look into his eyes. "Athelstan," he said, looking at her for a moment. "I like that name," she said. "I'm Meredith," Athelstan turned back to her. "Meredith, are you truly alone?" Meredith nodded. "Yes. I've always been alone. But not anymore, now I've made friends with a monk named Athelstan," she laughed, making Athelstan smile.
He knew the dangers of having an orphan child inside a place he wasn't sure she was welcome, he was afraid that this innocent, friendly girl would be hurt or even worse thrown back into the slums she most likely came from, but Athelstan was a weak man, a kind man, so he continued to entertain her as long as King Ecbert was absent. "What are you writing, Athelstan?" King Ecbert's threats echoed in his mind. If you tell anyone of the conversation we had today I will let them crucify you. But as he swore. King Ecbert would never come in contact with her, which meant he would never know what he would tell her. "I'm translating the scribes of the Romans."
"The who?"
"The Romans," Meredith gave him a blank stare. "They are people of the Mediterranean, a land far south from here. There was a time when they conquered all of the world." Meredith's eyes widened with curiosity. "However, they were not Christian like you and I, they were Pagans. They believed in false Gods."
"Why did God let them conquer if they don't believe in him?" Meredith asked, standing on her toes to look at the Roman words. "Because..." Athelstan picked her up and sat her on his lap so she could see. "Because he was waiting for the birth of a man that would bring Christ back to the land. Constantine. He brought Christianity on Rome and made it fall. Now it is Byzantium, a Christian Empire,"
"Are there any Romans left?"
"Of course. They are the Holy Roman Empire now, living with Christ." Meredith grazed her fingers along the paper. "Can we go?"
"Go where?"
"Byzantium, Athelstan," Athelstan, finally being chased in a corner by his own story that was yet to be completely proven, let out a nervous chuckle. "Forgive me, Meredith, it's just a story. People don't really know if what these things say are true." Meredith huffed. "I hope it's real," she said, turning to the window, realizing that the beams were now low, and the sky was a sorrow periwinkle. "Oh, Athelstan, look," she said, hopping down and hurrying toward the window. "The sun's napping now," she said her voice tinged with slight mourning. "I see,"
"Bad things happen when the sun's napping, Athelstan." Athelstan got up, limping as he kneeled to Meredith. "What do you mean?"
"I don't like the dark. I'm afraid." Athelstan could only imagine the things poor Meredith saw when she was forced to live on the streets. Athelstan sighed, lighting a few candles and putting them near his bed. "If we imitate the sun's light as if it were still here," he started. "Nothing bad happens in the dark." Meredith furrowed her brows and pulled an uncertain expression. "You promise?" Athelstan smiled. "I promise."
Meredith yawned and climbed into Athelstan's bed. "Athelstan," she called out, rubbing her eyes. "Can you tell me another story, Athelstan?" Athelstan cracked a warm smile. "Of course." After not much thinking, Athelstan sat on the edge of the bed and thought of a perfect story to tell her. "Have you ever heard of the Northmen?"