After claiming his luggage, he realizes, to his complete surprise, that there are some fancy-looking people in the waiting area holding up a board with his name on it. Upon approaching them, it turns out they were sent by the head of Saxonate, and are going to deliver him right to the hotel. They also inform him on their way that the first interview would take place tomorrow if he agrees as well. Ragnar feels it's not really up to him but nods in agreement.
The hotel looks expensive, not what he's used to, and he ‒ awkwardly, if he'd know how to be awkward ‒ feels like a filthy savage among all these fancy people. Instead of fixing his eyes on the ground or mumbling, he just marches to the front desk, checks in, confidently withstands the judging gazes, and heads up to his room. Which, by the way, looks just as expensive as the rest of the place, of course.
His bags land on the floor with a thud, and without looking around, he spreads out on the bed. After a short period of laziness, he sets up the wifi on his phone, and goes back to this artist guy's Instagram profile. There's no Youtube channel linked to it, nor any social media account other than Twitter.
His fingers stop and hover above the "send a message" button for a while. With a shrug, he proceeds.
@RL: Hello Athelstan, you probably saw the amount of interest in us collaborating. I was thinking we could discuss that. Are you available?
It's not the best he could've written but Ragnar isn't the overthinking type. He jumps up and starts unpacking. Having already thrown half of his clothes into the closet, the phone beeps, and he runs to check if it's from Athelstan. It is.
@AA: Hi Ragnar, I have just discovered this demand. I have also taken a look at your social sites, and I am unsure about how we would be able to collaborate, seeing that your main tool is video making and I am not interested in that.
Ragnar huffs and types:
@RL: Well, that's why I suggested we meet and find that out. Where are you?
He almost immediately receives a response.
@AA: I'm in Lindisfarne, but yet again, I'm not sure there is a way of us collaborating.
Pulling up Google Maps, he searches for the mentioned place, and when he sees where it is, the wrinkles around his eyes appear and he laughs out loud. The guy who creates religious paintings is on an island called the Holy Island. His laugh soon becomes uncontrollable.
After the laughing dies out, he shoves a few essential things in his backpack, slings it on his shoulder, and leaves his room. There's a faint memory in his brain about those pick-up guys saying something like "The boss requests you rest now, to be fresh tomorrow," but he forgets it as soon as he steps out on the street.
Well, if he called those earlier rides rocky, this was... he doesn't even have words for this one. He did see this is a very small island, that's why he started the journey even though the artist guy didn't reply to him asking for his address, but he wasn't expecting this.
This island was weird, to say the least. First of all, Ragnar expected a ferry at some point; instead, there was an actual road. Secondly, he expected the Holy Island to be, well, an island; instead, looking out the bus window, he saw watery land. Sure, he knows what a tide is, but still, this area was blue on the map. And thirdly, he expected this place to be small, but when they reached the island, which was somewhat hard to tell because at first there was nothing ‒ or rather, the view remained the same ‒, he realized just how small it is, thus how amazingly easy it will really be to find a guy named Athelstan here.
So when the bus arrives at the town center, Ragnar jumps off rather victoriously.
He greets the first person he sees and politely asks if she, by any chance, knows where a certain Athelstan lives. The old lady laughs. "Dear, we're about a hundred people here, we all know each other," and continues with a vague description of how to get there, punctuated with the frequent use of the phrases "you'll see" and "can't miss."
He grins at the old lady as a thank you.
On his way, he passes some more elders who stare at him from windows and the sides of the road. Sure, he has an unusual look, kind of odd, kind of different, might be offensive even to a specific crowd. It isn't like this at home where his friends and family have the same mentality and similar exterior, and he likes being unique abroad, but he's never gotten this much attention anywhere before. He's not sure whether he likes it. He's sure though that he doesn't really care.
He stops in front of a house that very much resembles the one the old lady described. Well, she didn't give many clues, but this house does have, he thinks, "a nice feel to it," a blue door, and "oh, that wonderful garden ‒ even I can't make mine that lovely."
He briefly weighs his options: writing a message to the guy with the information that he's standing right outside his blue door or simply knocking. Of course he decides on the second one.
When the door opens, he gets to lay eyes on the most beautiful man he's seen so far. (And yes, he knows Floki would be offended, but even with his jealousy in mind, he can't deny it.)
"Wow," Ragnar says unapologetically. "You shouldn't be hiding that face from the world."
The man is staring into his eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Du er Ragnar," he mumbles with a slightly noticeable accent.
Said man's lips grow into a smile, feeling more and more intrigued. "Og du er Athelstan."
"How did you even‒ I mean I didn't‒"
Ragnar impatiently marches through the doorway, which might be impolite, but yet again, he doesn't really care about these little meaningless things like manners and etcetera. While kicking off his boots and making his way forward, he explains: "I got here and I asked the first person. Wasn't hard. By the way, it was this old lady, she said you have a lovely garden."
"Oh, that must be Rose, dear soul," the man says as he follows Ragnar to the humble living room, "I see I'll need to talk to her again about referring strangers to me..."
Ragnar throws himself down into the couch. "So you get this a lot?"
Athelstan shrugs and sits in the armchair across from him. "Well, not a lot. People are usually hesitant to come to a strange island‒"
"I can imagine you've got some followers with blind faith who are very keen on getting to know you."
Athelstan looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Ragnar laughs in response.
"No, see, it's different, I'm here for business. My followers asked, I'm obeying."
The man smiles sheepishly, and asks: "Would you like some tea?"
"Sure," Ragnar nods.
While Athelstan is occupied in the kitchen, he raids and explores the room, examining a few items, however he arrives at the conclusion that the guy doesn't have many personal belongings. Or at least not in his living room.
As he hears Athelstan approaching, he shouts the question his brain formed. "How come you speak Norwegian?"
The man sets down a tray on the table, and after pouring tea in the two cups, he answers shyly. "I picked up a few words when I was travelling, nothing much."
"You also travelled?" Ragnar accepts the cup the other man is holding out to him and takes a sip. It's not bad but he can't fight down a grimace, to which Athelstan responds with a worried look, so he adds: "It's fine, I just wasn't expecting milk in it. I should have, of course."
"I‒ I'm sorry, I can make another one‒"
"No, it's fine."
Athelstan sits back down with his cup in his hand and clears his throat. "My travels served more of a religious purpose."
Ragnar just nods because he can't fully understand that, but then, thinking of it, he says: "Actually, that's what I'm doing too, in a way."
They stare at each other silently for a while.
Ragnar makes a mental note of how honest and pure the other man's eyes are. They're not as blue as his own but very pretty nonetheless, and they make him feel like he's looking right into, as Ragnar imagines, his equally honest and pure soul.
"So," Ragnar finally speaks, along with a flirtatious grin, "would you like to do something together?"
He watches as Athelstan's cheeks turn pink and, if that's possible, he looks even more sheepish now. "I'm‒ I don't make videos."
"I'd be making it," Ragnar jokes.
"I mean‒"
"Why are you hiding your beautiful face? Are you a fugitive?"
Athelstan jerks his head up. "No!" Then he blushes again. "Don't say that."
"So then what?"
"They‒" He shrugs and fixes his gaze on the floor. "I just don't believe it serves a purpose, me showing myself."
Ragnar narrows his eyes, and tries to figure out the real reason because he can see this was not the real reason, or what to ask for the truth to be revealed. After some consideration, he decides to just go for it: "That was not the truth. Tell me the truth. Maybe I can help. I've got experience in video making, I've got connections all over the world. Whatever it is, I should be able to help."
Athelstan fidgets with his fingers, looking uncomfortable. After all, he's being forced to answer a possibly personal question by an unwanted intruder in his house whom he doesn't even know. Ragnar can see how it could make him uncomfortable ‒ he does not care, however. Whatever it is, it won't get better if he doesn't tell someone about it, and they might not meet ever again, so he's really the perfect candidate to talk to.
Similar thoughts could have run through the man's head because he glances up and coyly spits out: "I just don't like how I look. That's all."
And at that, Ragnar is startled. He blinks in surprise. How is he supposed to help with that?
"Ehm... you don't need to say anything, it's‒"
"No, I do, and I will, I'm just not sure what... You know what? Fuck it." Ragnar leans forward. "You know what I thought when you opened the door? I thought: this is the most beautiful man I ever got the lucky opportunity to see." Ragnar smiles as Athelstan blushes once again, and continues with more courage. "And your eyes, those are really something. If you're beautiful, then your eyes are... magnificent. Check out my vocabulary, wow."
Athelstan lets out a little laugh and waves his hand. "Okay, stop, stop. Thank you. Similar thoughts were running through my mind as well, actually. Even though I'm sure my eyes are nothing compared to yours..."
Ragnar flashes a confident smile. "It's all about what you believe about yourself. You see, I can convince myself of anything. If I want to think, I don't know, for example that I'm the king of Denmark, I will, in fact‒"
"Become the king of Denmark?"
"Well, maybe not," Ragnar chuckles. "But who knows?"
Athelstan's laugh is short and gentle, polite in every possible way, and it delights Ragnar, and suddenly he wants to know what other noises he could draw out of the man.
"No but you know, if you believe you can do or be something, it will be so. That's what I do. Just follow my lead."
The man smiles at him softly and nods.
So, half forced, half willingly, Athelstan joins him in brainstorming about the subject of the video. They get along pretty smoothly.
After numerous cups of milky tea, many papers full of ideas with messy, big letters by Ragnar, and one piece of tight and neat notes by Athelstan, Ragnar scans the house for a spot with a fitting background and enough light. He decides the backyard would be the best option. When Athelstan wants to know why, he just answers "Because of your lovely garden," to which he gets a shy laugh.
When the equipment is set, he directs Athelstan where to stand. Then he asks what he should do, and Ragnar laughs and says "Just see what I do," so he does. They get so lost in the process that Ragnar only notices how much time has passed by the darkening sky.
"I guess I have to go," he says, "we can finish this another time."
Athelstan nods, and follows Ragnar back into the house. He puts away the cups and tray and all the things on it, all the remaining evidence of this blue-eyed Norseman having been here.
Ragnar zips the bag around the camera. "I hope I have some coins in here somewhere," he mumbles as he runs his hand through a pocket. "I don't think I can pay with a card on these buses..."
"Oh."
Ragnar looks up. "Oh?"
"I thought you were going by car. I don't think there are any more buses today."
"Oh." Ragnar drops on the floor from his squatting position. "I did try hitchhiking a handful of times but people usually don't like picking up a strange man looking like this. I'm guessing it's even more true here."
"I could ask somebody to give you a ride, maybe Rose would be up for a trip‒ Oh, but her car broke down last week," Athelstan starts thinking out loud.
"I can walk back to the hotel," Ragnar shrugs.
"That's a long journey."
"I've done long journeys."
Athelstan rubs his nose in a thinking way, then suggests: "Well, I guess you could spend the night here. I've got a couch..."
"So you're not inviting me to share your bed?" Ragnar flashes a teasing grin.
Athelstan, of course, blushes. "I don't do that."
"What do you mean? At all?"
"It's been a long while since I last did that."
"Is it a religious thing?"
"Well, it has become something like that."
Ragnar raises an eyebrow.
"I really hurt someone a long time ago," Athelstan admits, "after that I vowed to stay alone for a while, and additionally it has helped me develop a closer connection to God."
"So you're not planning on keeping this up forever, right?"
Athelstan lets out a small laugh. "I guess I could say I'm waiting for the right person." He extends a hand to Ragnar on the floor and helps him up. "Come, I'll make your bed."
"Couch," Ragnar huffs, and Athelstan laughs.
The message is short, simple and exact, informing him about the location of the interview the next day, which is the Saxonate building itself, and the time. There's no place for questions, nor negotiation. He tries to check which bus would take him there on time, but it is loading so slowly that he gives up, thinking what will be, will be.
He joins Athelstan in the kitchen to make dinner. They talk about religion.
When they sit down to eat, Ragnar automatically lifts his fork, but then places it back and looks at Athelstan patiently.
He looks back at him. "Thank you," he says with a smile, and bows his head down.
Ragnar hears his rapid whispering and he finds himself curious. When Athelstan raises his head back again, he asks: "What did you tell your God?"
Athelstan looks him in the eyes, his face reflecting doubt and suspicion at first, then it goes softer. "I thanked the Lord for our food."
"But you made your food."
"I'm thanking the Lord for the food because it is Him from whom all our blessings flow, and to eat is a merciful blessing. Every meal is a miracle."
"A miracle?" Ragnar lets out a small laugh, and lifts his fork again.
"You don't know what a miracle is?"
"Of course I know what a miracle is," Ragnar says. "Generally, I do. I'm just not sure I know what you mean by it."
"For me, a miracle is..." He pauses briefly to think it through, then says: "Miracles are things which are impossible to do."
Ragnar looks at him, weighs all the possible things he could respond with, but there aren't many, so he just nods and slowly takes a bite of his food.
He decides Athelstan is a miracle.
After they washed the dishes together (which actually proved to be much more fun than Ragnar initially expected), Athelstan excuses himself and disappears behind a door that Ragnar suspects is to his bedroom. A few minutes later he reappears, now there's a very good-guy-ish pajama on a very good-guy-ish man. Ragnar smiles at him mockingly, to which, of course, Athelstan blushes and looks away, because what else would he do.
He steps closer to the man and rests his big hands on his cotton-covered chest. "Do you want to watch something?"
Athelstan looks confused, and Ragnar must admit, he's never seen anyone looking more adorably confused. He does admit it out loud too. In response Athelstan, well, blushes. And giggles, additionally, as a development.
"What?" Ragnar asks finally, stroking small circles with one hand. "You don't have movies in your night routine?"
"Oh, movies!"
"Uhm, yeah. I wasn't thinking of watching the stars or some sloppy romantic shit."
Athelstan giggles again which makes Ragnar smile. "In that case, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't actually have a device available for choosing a movie..."
"You don't have a device available for‒ What does that even mean? Do you have a TV?"
"I do but it only has three channels."
Ragnar makes a face. "I mean... okay, that could work, I guess. Where is it?"
Athelstan fidgets with his fingers and nods in the direction of the door he disappeared behind moments ago. "In my bedroom."
He makes his way to his backpack, unzips and drops his pants on the top of it, and in a t-shirt and boxers, now serving as pajamas, marches into the mentioned room.
It's just as humble as the rest of the house. It's not big, and the bed ‒ not double but a little wider than a single-person one ‒ takes up most of its space; except that, there's only a nightstand on one side, and a chair in front of a table with a book on it which, judging from the cross on it, seems to be the Bible. The walls are plain white and the floor is made of simple wood, similarly to the outside design.
He throws himself on the bed, spreading, with a wide grin. "It's much comfier than it looks!"
Athelstan smiles at him, then squats in front of the small TV and pushes some buttons on it.
"You don't have a remote control?"
"There should be one somewhere..." Athelstan stands and leans to see behind the screen. What Ragnar is seeing is his butt, for which he doesn't complain though. "Here it is. But the on/off button doesn't work."
He makes his way to the bed. There he hesitates for a few brief moments, and Ragnar smiles at him innocently. At last, he shyly nudges Ragnar in the ribs, to which he laughs and makes space for the true owner of the bed.
"So," Ragnar focuses on the screen that is showing a serious-looking man, "I'm guessing this is the news?"
"You're right. There's this other one," Athelstan clumsily presses the volume button first, and only then does he manage to change the channel.
"It's something religious as I see."
"Yes. And then here's the third..."
Ragnar watches it for a minute, then shrugs. "At least there's laughter on this one." And with that he leans against the wall. Athelstan does the same.
As they watch the sitcom episode about two old men trying to sell pants, Athelstan gradually snuggles up to his side. It feels nicer than it probably should. He throws an arm around the man's shoulder and starts stroking his chest with his hand. Then David Beckham makes an appearance on the show whom Athelstan doesn't recognize, Ragnar is sure of it, until it's made clear. It's actually not a bad show, he decides.
Athelstan falls asleep on his chest, so he doesn't get up. He's actually happy about this turn of events.
{ next part: between 02. 04-06. }