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Lagertha Loðbrók (couldntkillme) wrote in wariscoming,

"We build our houses out of shit," Lagertha shrugged. "It is impossible not to embrace it where I come from." Still, trying to imagine Grantaire surrounded by sheep was rather a stretch, she discovered when she tried. She had seen Athelstan dealing with the sheep and goats on the farm, but Grantaire conducted himself differently. Now she thought about it, he did seem more at home in a city, even this city, than he would in the open countryside of Scandinavia.

Lagertha listened to Grantaire's explanation of his situation, her brow creasing slightly while she thought. "We all deal with things differently," she began, almost thinking out loud rather than voicing a rehearsed opinion. "But, in my experience, it is better to deal with problems head on than to ignore them and hope they go away." She paused. "Although, saying that, my problems are usually enemy raiding parties on the charge, so I am supposing the situation is different."

Lagertha looked down at her coffee cup, the smile still lacing her lips. "He is no longer a priest," she said, thinking about how much Athelstan had changed since she'd first met him. "He is vikingr now." Her smile widened and she turned her head to look back at her friend. "He has learned not to be so whiny."