Torstein | Vikings (ex_torstein770) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2020-03-31 19:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !completed gdoc, !log, ~2020 april, ~~bjorn ironside (bjornironside), ~~~torstein (torstein) |
Who: Bjorn Ironside and Torstein
What: Torstein's arrival into Madison
When: Tuesday afternoon
Where: The land surrounding the Settlement
Rating: Blood, language, talk of death
Note: Dialogue in italics is in Old Norse
Nothing was as easy as it seemed, and fighting for the crown of Mercia for the English princess was no exception. She was a beauty, yes, but she was crazier than a shithouse rat. Maybe she hadn’t really stabbed her uncle’s decapitated head repeatedly and then spit in his face, maybe it was a mixture of the mushrooms Rollo had given him and the fever in his head that made everything seem so much more violent than it really was.
That all seemed like eons ago. They had tracked the princess’s brother and his men to a hilltop above the battlegrounds at the shoreline, and Torstein knew he needed to die in battle if only to be reunited with his family and friends in the halls of Valhalla. There would be nothing for him in Kattegat, what sort of future did a man in his prime possessing only one arm, have? At this rate the fever alone would finish him off on the sail back, and that wouldn’t be a death worthy of Odin.
Minutes later, after stabbing one of the English with an arrow that had been previously volleyed at him, Torstein felt the pierce of the sword in his gut. Sliding to his knees, he crumpled onto his back and stared up at the hazy afternoon sky, waiting for the welcoming halls of Valhalla.
Then things changed.
The sky lightened, the sun was shining warm on his face, far off an unfamiliar bird call. Even the feel of the coarse grass under him had changed to a softer well-kempt grass. What’s more? He was still breathing. Unmoving, laying in the soft grass and looking up at the unreal sky, Torstein frowned in a mixture of betrayal and confusion. Still, the warm stickiness of blood seeped from his stomach and Torstein felt the trickle of a frustrated tear work its way down from the corner of an eye and slip behind one of his ears. Breathing out hoarse and sad words to the Gods, he closed his eyes tightly against the too-bright sun and unfamiliar sky. “Odin, why have you forgotten me?” This was not the halls of Valhalla nor the hills of Mercia.
--
"Odin has not forgotten you, Torstein." Bjorn had been wandering near the Settlement when he had come upon the familiar face of an old friend. One he thought he'd never see again, as this particular old friend had died when Bjorn had been younger. He wasn't sure how Torstein would react to him, or even if he'd recognize the man he was now.
He studied Torstein for a moment, and kneeled down beside the man. He removed the shirt he had been wearing, in order to staunch the blood flow coming from the man's gut.
"I need to take you to Sigrun," he said, as he pressed the shirt onto the wound. "She is a Valkyrie. She can help." Then, after a moment, "Do you know who I am, Torstein?" It was likely he did not, but there was a chance.
--
Gaze shifting towards the sound of the familiar voice, Torstein blinked as a young Ragnar settled down beside him and began talking.. Wait, it wasn't Ragnar. The noble brow.. "Bjorn?" He choked out, blinking up at the boy turned man. He looked so much like his father, having grown a beard since Torstein had saw him last in Mercia alongside Þorunn, but he looked ages older now, a mix of Lagertha and Ragnar, two people Torstein had respected until his last breath.
Head swimming, he barely registered the shirt to his stomach or Bjorn's words. The pain both from the sword and from losing his arm so violently just a day ago, was dulled drastically due to the shock of not being dead and seeing an older Bjorn. His remaining hand, pale and bloody, reached up and grabbed at Bjorn's shoulder weakly, eyes wild. "Is it really you? You look so much like your father..</i>" He chuckled brokenly, patting the man's shoulder as he released it from his grip. "It's not you, the Bjorn I know had a smooth baby face and no darkness in his eyes.."
--
"Yes, Torstein," he said, softly. "Bjorn, son of Ragnar. Though my father died years ago. After…" He was about to say after Torstein had died, but decided against it. "You are in a place called Madison Valley. To the west of our home. Even to the west of England."
He continued to put pressure on Torstein's wound as he spoke, trying desperately to stop the blood. Blood had never bothered Bjorn, but he knew if the man lost too much…
"You are alive, Torstein. Though Odin is here, walking among us in Madison Valley."
He considered what to do with Torstein for a brief moment. "I am going to take you to the Settlement. Sigrun will know what to do."
--
The sadness at hearing his friend Ragnar Lothbrook had perished, was palpable, and his heart ached in the knowledge that while Ragnar was at Valhalla, Torstein would never see his friend again.
Headstrong and thick-skulled even when bleeding and minus an arm in an unfamiliar field with an older Bjorn beside him, Torstein shifted to stand. Able to support himself shakily on his single arm as he got his legs under himself, he was vaguely aware that Bjorn was doing most of the work. The tall narrow man found himself leaning against Bjorn more than he would've cared to admit under normal circumstances.
Eyes attempted to focus on the hazy unfamiliar landscape, he paled visibly when the farmland around the two men gave a sickening tilt, shaking fingers grabbing at the other man's arm for some semblance of an anchor. Sniffing, Torstein's gaze found the outline of a structure not too far from where they were, giving the younger sturdier arm a shaky pat, hoping he wouldn’t pass out before they made it to the building.
"Come Bjorn, let's have some ale..."
--
“Yes. We can definitely have some ale,” he told the man. “Once we get you to stop bleeding, you can have all the ale you want.” Bjorn had no qualms promising this to Torstein, because he had a feeling that Sigrun would not mind in the slightest. Sigrun rarely minded anything that Bjorn did, but that didn’t stop the man from asking her permission more often than not. She was a Valkyrie, after all. He didn’t want to anger her in the slightest.
He also knew that Torstein wouldn’t want to admit that Bjorn was supporting him while walking, so he didn’t make any sort of deal about it. Mainly because Bjorn was just as stubborn as Torstein, usually. If not more.
“There is someone who looks like Lagertha here,” he told him. “She is not Lagertha. She is a Valkyrie named Sigrun.” Because that was rather important to tell the man. He didn’t want him to be taken aback.
--
Grunting at the mention of a woman with the fortune in sharing Lagertha's face, Torstein's pale face twisted with a wry grin. "Lucky us, a Valkyrie and one with your mother's handsome looks.." Spurred on mostly by the prospect of an after-not-death ale, the viking was hopeful that he wouldn't pass out before then, but it was looking grim. Already his vision was fuzzy at the edges and his ears ringing.
Breath catching at the first steps towards the structure, Torstein wobbled slightly but was quick to catch his balance with Bjorn's help as they made their way through the grasslands to the pretty Valkyrie and ale.