Thread: Drowning in Sin (heartlesskitten x Kuro)

Cerdic watched Vigi warily as the pale haired man touched his cross, the one his mother had given him before she died. His left hand flexed, ready to grab for it if the man tried to take it. To his surprise, the Dane left it alone. How very rare for a Northman to leave any treasure untouched. Cerdic nodded slightly, I would be...grateful for something for the pain. Coward, he called himself. Since when did Cerdic, son of Osric need anything for his pain? When he took that arrow in the thigh at Stamford or when he broke his arm at The Wash when fending off a blow from a big Northumbrian. The monks had set pulled the arrow out and set his bones and he took only wine. That was when he had strength, he was someone. He was no one now, just another monk, now just a slave. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Vigis reasoning and he was right. He would have no way to fend off a Viking if he wanted his cross, even if he was healthy unless he wanted to try to swim back to the shores of Angaland. You know nothing about the power of God, he rumbled, But its no fault of your own, you are a heathen savage. Cerdic took off the cross, slipping it over his head and fondled it once more, his fingers moving over the smooth crystal for the an unknown number of times. How many times before battle, while he prayed or when he was in his darkest moments did that white stone bring him luck? He held it a moment more, seeing his mothers soft grey eyes and her black hair, her slim hands hanging the cross around his neck when he turned ten. See more I thank you for keeping it safe, it was a gift from my mother, he said stiffly, not wanting to let it go but understanding the need. When Vigi touched the pagan charm on his chest, Cerdic eyed it suspiciously as if it might burst into flames. He wrinkled his nose and huffed a breath of disbelief. How can you have true power with your false gods? He asked it without being combative, just a genuine question as he had grown up a Christian and everyone he knew was a believe in God and his Son. His ancestors on his fathers side had not long ago worshiped a similar pantheon of gods and goddesses but that was in the past, they belonged to the one True Faith now. He knew the Northmen had all sorts of bloodthirsty gods and goddess whores, some of which even demanded human sacrifice. Cerdic felt a chill, remembering the stories his grandfather would tell of Woden and Thunor, they were nearly the same as Odin and Thor that this magician worshipped. They were not real gods, merely fanciful stories. Just heathen trash, like the Muslims who at least believed in one God rather than an entire extended family. Cerdic sighed, tossing the beads off to the side of his pallet. He was in too much pain to debate theology. The monk watched him a moment, unbraiding his long flaxen hair and thought once again how lovely it was, like gossamer strands of fine pale golden-silver. He had seen such a metal before, a Muslim trinket inscribed with squiggly worm writing that he did not understand but it had been quite beautiful. It was a small salt dish that was rare and expensive. Cerdic shook the thought away, it was a strange thing to dwell on and it was not as if he would ever see it or his old home again. Even before being taken by the shaman, he had been sentenced to stay at the monastery.