A/N: Thanks to my broken laptop, I've only been able to watch the first three episodes of Vikings. This is therefore set just after the third episode, when Athelstan has been left to look after the kids, and I have sadly no idea what has happened in the show since then. (Basically, if something like this happened, then woohoo!)

First attempt at a Vikings fic, so please be nice to me.

Athelstan sat leaning against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest as he ran a hand over the hair he couldn't stop from growing. It felt strange after so many years of the bald patch marking him out and he closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that so often threatened to fall.

The commotion from outside was so sudden it startled him and he jumped up, heading out of the building quickly to see what was going on. The scene scared him.

Two men were approaching, their intentions clear. The first already had his axe in his hand, his attention focused entirely on Bjorn. The boy had frozen, trying to work out if he had time to reach his weapons or not. His sister was shaking, backing away from the other intruder who was leering at her.

"Bjorn!" Athelstan called quickly, grabbing the sword that had been left for their protecting on his way. "Get your sister inside." He waited until they were in the building before speaking again, aiming his words at the men who had finally noticed him. "What do you want here?"

"Ragnar and his lovely wife have left," one smirked. "That leaves all this to us."

"I don't think so." Athelstan had no idea how he managed to sound so calm, when on the inside he was freaking out. "Leave."

"What, are you going to make me?" They both laughed and he wanted to cringe. Was it so obvious to everyone that he was foreign and peace loving?

"I won't say it again," he threatened, though the slight shake in his voice ruined it entirely.

"Get him," the first snarled, lifting his axe as he charged. Athelstan heard the scream from inside as he raised the sword to defend, all the while Lagertha's threat echoing in his ears. He didn't fight, he had no chance, he was going to lose. He knew all these facts yet Athelstan also knew he couldn't give in now. The vibrations from the weapons clashing rang down his arms and he winced, doing all he could not to drop the sword. In the corner of his eye he saw the second, smaller man trying to sneak up and he swung the sword, freezing when the blood spattered everything. The viking stared at Athelstan dumbly before dropping to his knees, hitting the ground as a corpse seconds later. All Athelstan could do was stare at the first man he had ever injured, never mind killed.

"Priest, behind you!"

Bjorn's cry cut into Athelstan's thoughts just in time. The monk span, raising the sword to stop the axe from splitting his skull. He fought automatically and without thinking, using moves he'd watched Ragnar teaching his son the week before. He could feel himself tiring when he finally saw his chance, stabbing the sword into the small gap his attacker let in the defence.

Letting the sword drop from his trembling fingers, Athelstan sank to his knees, closing the eyes of the dead man. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Are they dead?"

"Yes," Athelstan answered woodenly, looking up at Bjorn as he approached.

"You know, you're not so bad after all," the boy allowed finally after he'd studied the two bodies. This was high praise coming from him. "You've been injured." It was true. As Athelstan's adrenaline levels sank he noticed the stab of pain in his shoulder and pulled back his robes to check the wound. He hissed with pain as the already blood-soaked fabric stuck and pulled.

"It needs washing," a timid voice said from behind and he turned to face the girl. Ragnar's daughter. He couldn't remember her name and under normal circumstances would have felt guilty about this, but there was already too much guilt circling his system for any more to be added.

"She's right. We will deal with the bodies, you must deal with that." Bjorn stood and started to drag one of the bodies away, Athelstan's eyes following silently. Standing himself he reentered the home, stopping by the bowl of water he had been tempted to use earlier, to attempt to cut his hair for the second time. Athelstan stared down in the water, noticing the hollow look in the eyes of his reflection as he did so.

"I have killed," he murmured, pulling his robe off his shoulder again. "I have sinned against God and against man. This act can never be forgiven."

"You did it to save us." He turned to see the girl standing in the doorway, watching him.

"That does not stop it from being a sin," Athelstan told her. He ran his hand over his newly grown hair then rubbed at the small beard he had yet to remove. "I deserve this. I deserve to look different, to no longer be marked out. Thou shalt not kill. We are all taught that as children. I have broken a commandment of the Lord and am not worthy to be one of his servants."

"Our gods kill all the time, and if we die in battle or kill enough men honourably then we may go to Valhalla."

"How I wish that were true now." He laughed bitterly and turned away again. "No, there will be no heaven for me now, only hell." He didn't see her shrug and leave the building. All he noticed was the silence which fell, ominous and oppresive, leaving him alone with his thoughts full of guilt and hatred towards both himself and the savage society he had been brought to.