Ragnar's PoV
Ragnar quickly opened his eyes.
He immediately knew where he was, as he heard no sound, not even the wind outside. There was always some kind of noise, it was never completely still. He had this eerie, otherworldly feeling once again that engulfed the atmosphere around him in the way of a protective blanket rather than in an oppressive way.
He felt at peace, his mind as much as his heart.
He was dreaming.
Not a normal dream.
But one of those dreams.
Where the dead visited the living to console them.
He knew simply by the feel of the dream. It was different than the one you got during normal dreams, even though you couldn't really put it into words.
So excitement rose in him almost immediately after realizing the difference of his current dream and Ragnar immediately stood up from the place on the carpet he seemed to have fallen asleep on by the crackling fireplace, looking around himself, eyes searching.
Ragnar didn't feel scared even though he subconsciously felt he wasn't alone and that was how he knew that whoever was visiting him in his sleep was friendly and not of evil or harmful spirit.
He didn't know how he knew where to go nor did he understand how but his feet seemed to start to carry him forward almost on their own, leading the way for him.
It was just like the first dream.
Ragnar could think about little else as he continued onward, pushing himself through the curtains separating his quarters from the main room of the Great Hall.
Ragnar couldn't shake the quickly raising hope that swallowed him up in a matter of seconds, he simply couldn't help it.
It was just like the first dream.
The first dream he had actually met or seen Athelstan or should he say the ghost of him - not just hallucinating about him, weakened, at the brink of death as he had in Paris - for the first time after the Priest had been brutally murdered.
Ragnar's heart still painfully ached for Athelstan.
On some days more, on some days less, but it always ached.
It did so continuously, without pause, ever since the Priest had been gone. The Priest and his presence suddenly ripped away from him from one day to the next without any kind of warning.
Life was a cruel thing.
Damn Floki and the demons he listened to.
Damn them to Helheim.
Damn them, because now his heart was broken, an important, huge part of it having died together with Athelstan and there was nothing that could ever fix it.
There was no fixing it, fixing the loss of a loved one and he could only learn to live with it, carrying on from one day to the next and then repeating the circle all over again ... and again and again.
Movement caught Ragnar's eyes.
A shadow slowly walking down the dark Hall not far in front of him.
Ragnar immediately sped up his steps, to catch a glimpse at the moving shadow, yet no matter what, the distance seemed to stay the same.
So Ragnar could only follow, his eyes fixated on the moving shadowy person in front of him.
Athelstan, is that you?
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
He thought he kind of knew the answer to his question already, deep down in his heart, yet he fought the gnawing hope down because he wouldn't be able to live through the disappointment if the shadowy person didn't turn out to be the person he so longed for.
If it didn't turn out to be Athelstan.
His beloved Christian Priest.
The person he had trusted the most.
Feeling a little bit hazed, like everything was kind of far away, almost like being wrapped into cotton facing off and dulling every noise and visual stimulus from the outside around him - an annoying yet also welcoming after effect the shock of Athelstan's sudden death had left behind in him - Ragnar stepped into the sparsely lit center of the Great Hall.
The shadowy person had stopped near the center of it a little bit more to the right side, facing the big double door that marked the entrance or exit to the Great Hall of Kattegat depending on whatever point of view you were looking at it.
Ragnar couldn't help but hold his breath as he slowly stepped forward, passing one meter after the other, closing in on the mysterious figure.
When he was only an arms reach away, he stopped, in fear of the mysterious visitor suddenly vanishing like Athelstan had done in the first dream, once Ragnar had tried and reached for him because he had wanted to get close.
The eerie, otherworldly, mysterious, yet familiar feeling hit him full force again and Ragnar shivered.
'Athelstan.'
He didn't understand how he was sure, but it was like a part of him simply knew.
The height of the person still engulfed in the shadows definitely fit as did the figure.
Ragnar could hear his own heart beating loudly but steady as the shadowy figure slowly turned around to look at him, bringing its face into the sparse light in the process.
Ragnar's feelings were an emotional thunderstorm as the shadowy person was indeed revealed as none other than Athelstan, wearing the same dark brown robe he did in the first dream, hair also being the same, softly framing Athelstan's face and coming towards his shoulders in its natural fall.
Ragnar was breathless, taken back just like the first time by the sheer beauty.
Not that he didn't know what Athelstan looked - had looked like - but there was just something about the sparse light that hit differently.
Athelstan had always looked the most exceptionally beautiful in candlelight.
He had noticed that early, a lifetime before when Athelstan had still been more monk than anything else, hair short and curly, way back as Athelstan still had been his slave.
It felt so long ago now.
Those times. Where everything had felt simpler. Easier.
Where had just all that time gone?
It was a riddle, Ragnar couldn't hope to ever find the answer to.
'Is this real?'
Ragnar almost didn't dare to ask this question, too afraid he was of the answer.
He wanted this to be real.
To be meaningful.
Not one of those dreams you quickly forgot after waking up, wondering what it was you had been dreaming about.
'It is.'
Ragnar hadn't expected an actual answer, yet was grateful for Athelstan's response.
'So it's really you? I'm not dreaming?'
Even Ragnar noticed, how clearly you could hear the hope in his voice.
Ragnar simply watched Athelstan's face as he waited for a response, trying to remember and save every little detail to his mind, he had missed so much and would never be able to see again in the real world, outside of his dreams.
Athelstan was silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating how to best answer him, the light of the burning candles gently brushing across his face.
'You are, yet you aren't.'
Ragnar was sure his confusion showed on his face because Athelstan immediately went to elaborate.
'You're currently asleep, as we talk, so your kind of 'dreaming' in this sense of the word if you so will but this isn't simply a dream. I think you can feel that subconsciously. I'm really here. Or at least a part of me is. My soul is.'
'Soul?'
There it was again. That particular word, Christians seemed to find so important.
Athelstan nodded.
'My life essence or life force. I don't really know how to explain it properly to you, to be honest. It's hard to put into words as it is something you cannot touch but is still there. It's ... the part that still stays for a while even after your body has already been buried.'
Ragnar couldn't help but stare, letting Athelstan's words flow over him as he tried to make sense of it before a raising feeling of slight worry made itself known in his heart and in his head.
'So ... you didn't go to your God, into your Heaven?'
Athelstan shook his head, smiling slightly.
'Not as of yet. But time works differently on this side than on yours. I think I'm not completely ready yet.'
Once more Ragnar found himself at a loss.
'I don't understand.'
He honestly didn't and he was curious to hear Athelstan elaborate what it was he had meant.
'I think it might be because I have unfinished business here. I can't really move onward - wherever it is the dead go or are supposed to go after their life force has left the mortal body after its last breath - because I can't leave you back here like this ... feeling like this ... hurting like this ... without any kind of closure.'
Ragnar understood well now, what Athelstan meant.
Ever since he'd lost Athelstan, he'd been a changed man.
He was hurting, greatly, emotionally ... suffering silently inside ... and so the former monk was struggling to transcend, to free the last remaining final part of his being from the living world, to cut the last ties because he was worried.
Worried about Ragnar.
Ragnar swallowed.
'It is so good to talk to you again, Athelstan.' His voice was unbelievable hoarse and choked up due to all the deep, welling up emotions inside of him. 'I have missed this, ... missed you.'
His eyes flickered once more over Athelstan's body stood not far from him.
So close, yet still so far.
Real, yet not real.
'I don't want you to go.'
The words had escaped him, without his permission.
It was unbelievable selfish, his request, Ragnar was aware.
Yet he didn't care one bit.
He wasn't ready.
Wasn't ready to let Athelstan go.
To live a life without his favourite Priest in it.
'It was too soon, Athelstan. I can't lose you. I can't ... I'm not ready ... I can't lose you ... I don't want to ... I–'
Ragnar took in a shaky breath, quickly filling his lungs once more, yet seemingly still suffocating.
Still drowning in pain far worse than any wound could ever cause on his body.
Athelstan sadly looked at him, his voice a mere whisper as he answered.
'But you already did. I'm dead, Ragnar.'
Ragnar had to close his eyes after that to keep the tears in that tried to protrude and flow down his face like rivers.
He knew of course.
Knew it better than anything else.
But it didn't make accepting it any easier.
Didn't help calm his hurting, bleeding heart.
The heart apparently simply didn't work that way.
'I know.'
His voice sounded broken, even to his own ears.
'I just wish ...'
He couldn't continue.
Couldn't finish the sentence, he'd wanted to say.
It took all his strength to refrain from breaking down, to refrain from crying, right then and there.
'I know.'
This time it was Athelstan's turn to sound broken.
'Me too, Ragnar. I wish we'd have had more time too.'
Ragnar couldn't help but let a few tears slip then.
'Please, Athelstan ... I beg you. Don't go. Don't leave me here. Don't vanish.'
Forcing air in his lungs was so painful now, it downright hurt, downright burned.
'I need you. Stay. As a shadow, as a ghost ... as a dream ... I don't care ... just please stay. Don't leave me, Athelstan.'
'Ragnar–'
It pained Athelstan seeing him like this, Ragnar could tell as he saw his own pain he felt deep down inside of him, tearing him apart, reflecting right back at him from the Priest's gentle, soulful, brown eyes.
'There is so much more we've had to talk about. So much more memories to make. So much more to experience, I– It was too soon, Athelstan! Why had the Gods – your God have to take you from me? Why didn't they protect you?'
He couldn't keep the desperation he was feeling by now out of his voice, even worse, he was actually sobbing now, tears flowing down his face in rivers, pooling at his chin before lifelessly and carelessly dropping to the ground in front of him.
The great Ragnar Lothbrok was crying and it was for a Saxon for a Christian.
And it was the most beautiful thing Mother Earth must have ever witnessed because all that devastating pain - as sad and bad as it was since he had lost one of the most beloved people in his life - all that pain, in the end, simply showed how much he had loved Athelstan.
Truly loved him.
And if nothing else, at least that one fact was something positive between all this negativity, all this greyness, Athelstan's death had left behind in him.
But nonetheless it still pained.
And nothing in this world would or could change that.
It was like he had said.
There was nothing that could console him now ... now that Athelstan was gone.
Forever.
Far away, where he couldn't reach him, no matter how hard he tried.
Because the living weren't meant to be with the dead, nor the dead with the living.
In a way, it was that whole Vikings aren't meant to like Christians, and Christians aren't supposed to be fond of Vikings all over again.
Ragnar wanted to scream.
Because how was it his fault that his heart loved Athelstan who may be a Christian, yes, but still simply was just Athelstan?
He didn't love Athelstan because he was this or that or believed in multiple gods or one god but because of what was in the man's heart.
The person he had been.
Yet why was it always just Christian or Pagan for people?
For Vikings and Christians alike?
Was there nothing else that made people unique but what they believed in?
Which God or Gods they followed or not followed?
And all the bloodshed people did in the name of their Gods or God - their belief - was it really for them as they liked to say all the time or simply an excuse?
An excuse to continue murdering left and right without ever having to own up to your own actions.
The more Ragnar thought about it the more he was certain that it was exactly that.
And it hurt that he had lost Athelstan because of something so stupid.
'Please ...'
The urge was too strong.
He knew it was a stupid idea, seeing as it had ended his first dream and if anything he didn't want this to end, but the call of his own heart was too strong.
'Please, don't move. Don't vanish, just because I dare to get close. I beg you.'
It was all he said, before he slowly started to raise his hand, higher and higher, arm starting to tremble strongly, down to his fingertips, with each passing second as he brought it close to the Priest's face.
He had learned his lesson the first time, so this time around it wasn't his intention to actually touch.
Touch something he most certainly couldn't touch because of whatever barrier there was between the dead and the living.
He paused, waited, looked without blinking as he hovered, scared that Athelstan might vanish.
Yet Athelstan stayed.
So, Ragnar brought his hand even closer, as close as he could without actually touching, and then slowly, tenderly brushed his hand along the Priest's face, fingertips grazing, mimicking the actual action just without touching.
It worked.
It worked because Athelstan didn't vanish.
Ragnar smiled.
He was allowed at least this and he couldn't have felt happier than he did in this particular moment.
'I love you.'
His voice was a mere whisper.
'I told you so before and I'm not afraid to tell you again. You mean the world to me, Athelstan. Even though I didn't really know before it happened, I only came truly alive the day I met you. You were a gift I didn't deserve. Probably still don't. And I promise you, that this won't be the end. We'll be reunited ... one day ... I fight like the stormy sea itself to make it happen when the time comes. As I have promised you, that wherever you go, I'll follow. I'm a man of my word.'
He let his hand drop, eyes still never leaving the Priest's face.
'And because I love you, I will not be selfish. I'll give you free. I want you to find peace in your Heaven, just as much as I want you to stay and to come back to me.'
He was fully crying now because it hurt like hell, but he owed the former monk.
Owed him the ability to rest in peace.
To move on to the afterlife.
'Thank you, for everything.'
His vision became so blurry from all the tears, he quickly blinked a couple of times, so he could see Athelstan again.
When his vision cleared again, he was met by Athelstan's beautiful smile, lifting a small amount of his pain.
Then, the priest and former monk suddenly brought up both of his hands, the left one coming to rest on the side of Ragnar's face, while the right one gripped the Viking's shoulder.
The ghost of a touch.
It was just the ghost of a touch but Ragnar could feel it.
Ragnar let his eyes slowly flicker shut as he stood there unmoving.
'In some way, a part of me will always be with you, even though you won't see it.'
Athelstan's voice appeared right next to his ear.
'So try living a life for the two of us, Ragnar.'
More tears found their way past his closed eyes, wetting his cheeks.
'As you are a miracle and the world of the living would be empty without you.'
Ragnar sobbed, body shaking.
It was time.
He knew.
He felt it. Bitter and sweet.
'As I have told you, it doesn't matter to me, where I'll be going. What matters to me, is where you're going.'
It was the last thing Athelstan whispered towards him before Ragnar woke up.
Athelstan was gone.
Yet, the ghost of a touch remained with him for a while longer, a lingering feeling where Athelstan had touched him, consoling him in its own way.
The End