Olivier de Bretagne

"Especially when the queen is the one wielding the razor, as Ermina is very apt to do."

Mary giggles and strokes Ragnar's beard like petting a dog.

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Ragnar closes his eyes and grins, much like a happy dog.

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Athelstan watches them with a quiet smile.

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Mary reaches up to offer Athelstan a petting too. "Soft hairy." She purrs.

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"Yes, Athelstan'S beard feels much softer and nicer than mine," Ragnar says. "I'm tough and bristly!"

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"Maybe because of the different time of it", he says thoughtfully. "You've grown yours since you reached the age for it to start."

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"I remember when you were smooth cheeked and rosy." Olivier smiles. "We were both very young then."

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"I remember, too," Ragnar says. "Such a shy and confused little monk, ready to stand up to a big scary Viking for his book. I was impressed immediately, smooth and rosy cheeks or not!"

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"I didn't think a plain leather book would have much value to you", he recalls, "And I wasn't very confused then, just frightened."

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Olivier chuckles and comes to scoop up his errant daughter, letting the men rise off the cold ground. "We have all come along way from then. I was a skinny groom in a tabard too large for me and a belt that went twice around."

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"And I was a farmer with big ideas and a mysterious instruction," Ragnar says. "We really have."

He stands, and offers his hand to Athelstan.

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Athelstan tucks Mary under his arm so he can stand without dropping her, and takes Ragnar's hand.

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"A mysterious instruction?" Olivier asks with interest, leading the way towards the farmhouse, Mary giggling happily as she rides in Athelstan's arms. It doesn't same to bother here at all that her uncles are holding hands.

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"About finding treasure in the west, and how to cross the sea, away from the coast," Ragnar says, happily walking along with his lover and his family of choice.

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"Many years ago", Athelstan picks up the story, "before Ragnar came to Lindisfarne, he met a wanderer who gave him an instrument to follow the sun, even in cloudy weather, to help in navigation."

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"Mysterious indeed." Olivier observed suspiciously. "But helpful. What was the price for such assistance?"

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"None," Ragnar says. "It was destiny -- also, he needed for all this to have happened. It was Sinric."

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"Who we had met in Milliways, when he was still very young and at the court of Constantine."

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"The blonde youth I have seem you with in the bar? I see." He doesn't. It sounds very complex and confusing. "Then perhaps that is why you were drawn into Milliways? Or why he was?"

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"I don't know what is cause and what effect any more," Ragnar says. "It's one of those endless snakes biting their own tails, fate causing fate."

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He nods.

"It's all circular - until the Sinric we know reaches Hedeby, and then it opens up again."

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"Then perhaps this too is fate." He gestures to their farm.

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"This may be where we can step off the wheel of fate," Ragnar says. "And just be people again."

He squeezes Athelstan's hand.

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"Away from all concerns of power."

That's all he wants.

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