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Askeladd always was a mystery to Bjorn.
Bjorn was his most trusted man, but he never really shared anything. He could trust Bjorn his life but never his past.
Bjorn didn't ask anyway. He knew just enough to keep him satisfied. He never was the curious one.
Bjorn never asked why Askeladd almost never laid with a woman. Bjorn never asked what was on his mind when he stared at the dusk alone, far away from his men. Bjorn never questioned anything when they drank together and Askeladd gave him that warm smile he never truly gave anyone else nor drunk nor clear headed.
He didn't notice this right away. The feeling he got down his chest whenever Askeladd was close to him. And when he noticed, Askeladd was already leaning in too close for his own comfort, as if he figured this out long before Bjorn did himself.
Askeladd liked teasing. Whenever they drank together or shared a sleeping place, Askeladd would always stand closer than expected, touching a bit longer than necessary, smiling a little more playful than usual. At times like this Bjorn felt his gaze on him physically. He really was an open book to this man.
Though Bjorn didn't mind. He didn't mind when Askeladd's lips leaned on his. He didn't mind the taste of alcohol they were carrying. He didn't mind Askeladd's hands on his shoulders. He didn't mind squeezing his hands on Askeladd's waist. He didn't mind holding Askeladd till the dusk broke the sky.
He had long accepted that he would never understand that man. He accepted that they never spoke of that nights. He accepted that he'd never know Askeladd's troubles. He accepted that no matter how he tried to approach it, Askeladd would find a way to dismiss the unwanted dialogue. He stopped trying long ago. He accepted what Askeladd gave him and didn't try to have more.
Sometimes he got mad. He hated the difference between those quite affectionate words that slipped through Askeladd's mouth when they were close and the cold he was greeted with in the morning. He hated the unwanted feeling of neglect whenever Askeladd flirted with women. He hated how he slammed Askeladd on the bed in frustration and the man didn't mind. He hated the smug smile he gave Bjorn when Bjorn squeezed his hips till he bruised them.
But Bjorn learnt to adapt. With years by Askeladd's side he learnt how to live with that feeling in his chest. He learnt how to accept that he will never find same felling inside Askeladd's mind. That was something he got accustomed to. And that tight knot on his heart he got time to time, was a fair price to pay for having Askeladd by his side. To fight alongside him. To eat. To drink. To rest. He hated Askeladd's little games but he grew to accept them. He was never forced to follow him in the end. He chose to do it and he intended to stick with that choice.
His entire life Askeladd was a viking. A true viking, a violent one. Ruthless pirate that slaughtered villages in cold blood, traded slaves and killed for money. He was truly the type he hated the most. Askeladd hated vikings and yet he led them. He was one of them. He shared meals with them, he fought with them, he slept alongside them.
And then there was Bjorn. A berserk. A viking in it's purest form. The brainless brute force that demolished everything and everyone before it whenever he ate those damn mushrooms. Truly a unit to have in a battle. A quintessence of a viking.
And yet he was quick witted, smart and trustworthy. A rare combination one could find in a dane. He easily followed Askeladd's thoughts, caught on with his plans, understood the mood of his men.
Askeladd liked talking to him. Askeladd liked drinking with him. Askeladd liked his smile.
Askeladd hated all of the above. He felt resentment every time he ended up cuddled beside him. Askeladd hated himself for the fondness he felt near him. Askeladd hated the warmth in his smile whenever they drank. Askeladd hated the fact that he couldn't help it no matter how hard he tried.
He looked at Thorfinn some days and couldn't help but see himself in the all engulfing rage and hatred the boy found himself in.
Some days Askeladd wanted to say something. To tell Bjorn something nice. To show him affection. To reciprocate a little. He allowed himself to do this a bit when he got tipsy. To linger for touch, to quietly say Bjorn's name in man's ear.
He never accepted his fondness of Bjorn. He never could let himself feel without the backlash of hatred that came in succession.
He never fully realized how deeply this fondness took root in him. And when he did, Bjorn's breathing was already too shallow. He held him in his hands with dread and regret and rage and grief that he couldn't explain.
He didn't notice how he almost killed his little brat in that duel until the boy was already unconscious. He felt... Tired, of all things. He let Thorfinn hear of his past.
He wanted to do something right in his life. He hated the look on Thorfinn's face as the boy held him on that dammed floor. He wanted Thorfinn to do better than him. To be somewhere far away from here.
As his vision blurred he felt a little amused. All his life he thought of Avalon as his final destination. And just now on his deathbed he thought of Valhalla and of one certain viking he wanted to see just one more time maybe.