gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

guard well within yourself that treasure, kindness.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Gyda frowned, confused at Flosi's expression. Did she not want to get home? "Well -- my father has been West, across  the sea, to a place called England," she said, as if that explained everything. She led Flosi inside the house, careful to avoid any adults. It felt like a clandestine adventure, and being so young, she was easily caught up in it.

"Are you hungry?"

+ flosithelittlewarrior

Flosi smiled wryly, shaking her head but taking the younger girl’s hand. “It’s…very, very far away. I doubt that he will be able to help…” And she couldn’t really tell any Midgardian people where she was from. It wasn’t fair, and might show favor to whoever she happened across. But she was sorely tempted…any help to get home was appreciated.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Gyda frowned at Flosi's admission. So she was lost? That was sad, indeed. Hopping down from the garden wall, Gyda held out her hand to the older girl. "My father is the jarl here," she said, though there was no hint of a boast in her tone. It was only a fact. "I'm sure if you tell him where you live, he can help you get home."

+ flosithelittlewarrior

“It’s good to meet you too,” the Asgardian said with a little grin. She nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.” She wasn’t sure where she was, even in the slightest, but a girl younger than her could be no danger. At least, Flosi thought so. She shrugged. “My parents are at home…and I am guessing that my home is fairly far away from here.”

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Bird, that never had an evil thought, Pitiful the coming of death to thee.

— O Little Bird, Patrick Pearse.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Reblog if you rp with OCs.

Come one, come all! We’ll have a ball! Whether OC or canon I don’t even care if it’s on anon! Together let’s plot C’mon, give it a shot!

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

A long time ago, Athelstan might have told her that there was no Valhalla -- just as he used to try and convince her that the gods weren't real. Though she loved him dearly, she was glad that had changed. It had always made her uncomfortable to know that he didn't believe in the gods, and she feared they might punish him for it. She smiled at him when he accepted her words without debate.

"It's only the truth," was her reply. "The gods respect courage most of all, and you've got quite a lot of that. Only...I hope they don't decide that they want you anytime soon. I don't know what I'd do without you." Perhaps she was wrong to say so, for she knew the gods did what they liked without much regard for the desires of humans, but she couldn't lie. When Athelstan stroked her hair and kissed her, Gyda smiled.

"Let me know if you'd like help with anything."

+ hispriestathelstan

Athelstan moved over to take a seat next to the girl, watching her hands work the loom. His face flushed darkly at her words and he ducked his head, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He was a little overcome with emotion when she said she thought he’d get into Valhalla. In fact, he was sure she would have been ridiculed by anyone else if they had been present to hear her say such things.

“Gyda… That— was a very kind thing to say,” he told her quietly, eyes locked on his hands in his lap. He was far from brave, but if he knew the women of this family at all, he knew better than to argue with them, so he didn’t. But he did turn his head to look at her, reaching up to smooth down her hair before pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I should get to my chores, hm?” he said with a smile.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

The compliment caused Gyda's cheeks to turn deep red, and she glanced downward, unsure what to say. Though it had been over a decade and they'd since grown close, she knew that the monk didn't say such things lightly. His praise was just as important to her as her mother's or father's. She worked at the loom a little while in silence, listening to Athelstan's words.

"Our family," she corrected, her tone gentler even than it usually was. "You're part of it, you always have been. Even Björn agrees, though he doesn't show it. And I think... I think you're the bravest of us all, Athelstan. Even more than Father. Even more than Mother. Maybe you haven't fought any battles, but you'll get into Valhalla all the same. That's what I believe, at least."

+ hispriestathelstan

The priest clicked his tongue and scoffed at the girl. “This is better than a block of gold.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, considering her. “Do you remember what I wore when I came here? That scratchy old robe, brown and dull? I’d have worn that for the rest of my life if I hadn’t come here. This is a fine tunic. Fit for a king, I think,” he added with a wide smile.

Athelstan watched Gyda as she moved over to her loom, his eyes scanning the scene with fascination, excited to see it in completion. His gaze dropped to her face as she spoke, his own smile faltering a little. He remembered how hard it had been for him, at first. But running had never been an option. Where would he have gone? He’d never have made it back to England. He didn’t know how to sail a boat. And killing himself… Yes, he had considered it. But suicide meant the loss of Heaven, and he had quickly turned his mind from such thoughts. “Your family has always good to me,” he said quietly in response. A vision crossed his mind, of his monk brethren strung up at Kattegat, and he knew how lucky he had been that Ragnar had chosen to bring him home.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

"It's good to meet you, Flosi," said Gyda, climbing up the wall and swinging her legs over the side. It wasn't ladylike, but somehow she doubted this trouser-clad, sword-wearing girl would mind much. Besides, there was no one else there to see the daughter of Jarl Ragnar Lothbrok behaving in such a way.

"Would you like to come inside? Where are your parents?"

+ flosithelittlewarrior

Flosi turned towards the sound of the voice, not having expected anyone else to be around. But she had no idea where she was…she could make no assumptions. She walked over to the other girl. “I’m Flosi.”

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

+ flosithelittlewarrior

Gyda peered up over the garden wall and spied an older girl she'd never seen before. She was dressed queerly, in trousers like a boy, with a sword belted at her side. "Hello," she called to the stranger. "I'm Gyda. Who are you?"

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Still more laughter bubbled forth from Gyda's lips as Athelstan praised her gift, freckled cheeks flushed with happiness. "You act as though I've given you a block of gold," she said with false admonishment, squeezing his fingers in affection returned. "But I'm glad you like it. I've never worked with this fabric before, so I was worried it wouldn't turn out. I shall have to get more."

She settled down at her loom, running her fingers lightly over the half-finished tapestry she was in the process of weaving. It would depict the goddess Freyja flyting with Loki the trickster, and besting him -- one of her favourite tales. Softly, half to herself, Gyda murmured, "I'm glad you've stayed with us. If it were me, I might have run away, or killed myself. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you all these years, being so far from your home."

+ hispriestathelstan

The priest blushed a little as Gyda pulled at his hair, dipping his head a little as he gave a little shrug. “I don’t really remember when it is anyway. We did not celebrate birthdays at the monastery under Father Cuthbert, so any idea of my own sort of drifted away from memory.”

Athelstan was smoothing his hands down over the soft fabric again, for his other shirts tended to be somewhat itchy at times. But this shirt was special. It was perfect. “I love it,” he told Gyda with a bright smile. “It is the most comfortable thing I have worn in… many years.” He took both her hands in his and gave then a squeeze as he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you so much. I will treasure it.”

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

"Well, someone's got to, don't they?" she teased, reaching up to gently tug at one of Athelstan's dark curls. "You won't tell us your birthday, so I thought maybe this was the next best thing." Aware of Athelstan's modesty, Gyda averted her gaze when he changed, a smile already budding on her lips. She was eager to see how her gift looked on him, and when she did look up, she wasn't disappointed.

"It suits you so well! Do you like it? Is it comfortable?" Her cheeks ached from smiling so widely, but it was a good ache. Athelstan understood her better than practically anyone: he, like her, was not a warrior by nature. Not like her parents and brother, who seemed to live for and relish a fight. Athelstan was just as content as she to sit at home and look after things. She could talk to him, tell him her secrets, her fears, and he would never judge her. She loved that about him.

+ hispriestathelstan

Athelstan tilted his head when she asked him if he knew what day it was. He had long ago stopped keeping track of the days, really. He hadn’t celebrated Christ’s birth, death, or resurrection in years, other than a whispered prayer when he woke in the morning before going on with his day. He raised an eyebrow when she answered her own question, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

Eleven years, already? Time had flown by, then, truly. It was obvious in the face of the young woman before him. A face changed with the years and the trials that had gone by, a face that had once been so much more carefree, had looked up to him with curiosity and wonder when he’d first arrived. “I am surprised you’ve been keeping count,” he told her with a fond smile.

The priest looked down at the tunic once again, then gave a nod when she told him to try it on. His modest remained, so Athelstan slipped away to where his pile of furs was, facing the wall as he slipped off the plain shirt he wore and pulled on the soft blue one. It fit perfectly, and he smoothed his hands down over his chest, admiring it for a moment. At last he walked back out to Gyda, arms stretched out. “How does it look?” he asked, beaming at her.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Gyda was not blind to the problems in her parents' marriage. They had been building slowly but steadily over the years, but somehow love had always won out. Lagertha loved Ragnar dearly, Gyda knew, but she feared that her father's love was waning. She was aware that he had several bastard children, by women whose names she did not know or wish to know -- and Mother had steadfastly borne it all.

"A blanket," she answered when Lagertha questioned, smiling up at her. She kissed her mother's cheek. Softly, she added, "It will be okay, Mother."

+ lagerthaalothbrok

A smile broke out across the shieldmaiden’s face as she wrapped her arms around her daughter, bestowing a kiss to the top of her head. The mention of Ragnar had her shaking her head, a little sigh falling from torn lips. It was not likely that he would follow her home now. ‘No.’ Was the short reply she gave before letting her eyes fall on the loom, ‘Are you making something?’ It was said in a teasing tone; Lagertha’s hands smoothing her daughter’s golden locks.

[gyda-ragnarsdottir-blog]

Athelstan's reaction filled Gyda with pure delight. She'd been working on the shirt for weeks, determined to get it just right. Subpar work simply would not do: Gyda was rather a perfectionist in all that she did, but this project had been of the utmost importance as well. She returned the hug with equal affection and chuckled softly at the priest's words.

"Oh, hush. You don't know what today is, do you?" She waited a beat after being released from the hug before answering her own question, eyes glimmering. "It's been eleven years today, since you came to live with us." Her smile softened some, remembering those early days when she was utterly enamoured by the stranger Father had brought into their home. So many things had changed since then -- but many things were also the same. She still adored Athelstan, just as she had as a child.

"Go try it on. I want to see if it fits, or if I need to adjust anything."

+ hispriestathelstan

The priest smiled fondly at the girl’s words. She had often been his dearest friend, his closest confidant when Athelstan was at his loneliest. He raised an eyebrow when she told him of the shirt, smile widening as he watched her dart off after the clothing she’d mentioned.

He took the tunic from her, examining the embroidery she’d done, fingertips tracing over the fine threads. “For me?” he asked, raising his gaze to meet hers, biting on his lip. “It’s beautiful, Gyda. Thank you. You did not have to do this for me…” It was the finest thing he’d had since he’d taken his vows in the Church. Athelstan moved forward once more, pulling her into a fierce hug.