Dinner: Athelstan and Ragnar
Athelstan didn't expect Ragnar to remember to call him Connor. The name felt weird for the past thirty-odd years, and stranger now that he could hear his own name once again in Ragnar's lilting accent. Yet, he couldn't imagine Ronan calling him Athelstan, and perhaps it was simply a nickname that only Ragnar was permitted to use.
That felt right.
A little part of him was nervous about going to Ragnar's home, yet another part of him insisted that -- like everything else -- they would simply fit together here as they had everywhere between England and Kattegat. It was something he had to remind himself again after he showered and was deciding on what to wear. The first time they'd met, he'd been in his robes with a tonsure -- a haircut that wasn't attractive on anyone, yet --
Yet Ragnar had invited him to his bed once he'd been brought home. Together, he and Lagertha had issued the invitation, and he had declined then. But it had been issued as if he was free, not a slave, and the choice was his. Ragnar didn't care what he wore.
He finally decided on something that was equally smart and drove his rental over to the address that Ragnar had left him. The house was massive, and he felt a little daunted as he drove up the driveway and parked.
This was where Ragnar lived now? It was different than their homes in Kattegat, different than any home Athelstan had ever called his -- though he had seen other homes, different ones that were as huge but they had never been his.
This was still Ragnar's home. And Ragnar was still Ragnar. His lips began to curl as he hit the fob to lock the doors on the car and headed up the walkway to ring the bell.