Floki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gods_that_haunt_me) wrote2015-05-12 02:07 am
gods_that_haunt_me) wrote2015-05-12 02:07 am
Entry tags:
OOM - part two
[Part One]
Early in the morning, Helga wakes up and carefully slips out of bed, not wanting to disturb Floki. She cooks breakfast for the both of them, porridge, as it's the only thing Floki can eat at the moment. Gently waking him, she helps him sit up, and she spoonfeeds him, sharing the porridge out of the same bowl.
Later, with the assistance of a servant, Helga changes Floki's bandages and applies a fresh healing paste to his wounds. The gouges in his side still ooze blood, but they don't seem infected. Helga only worries that they're too deep to close up properly.
For Floki, sitting up to have the bandages removed and the clean ones wrapped around him is painful, as his ribs still feel as if they're stabbing his lungs with every breath he takes. But he is determined to do some things on his own. Like standing. With the help of a wooden staff, of course. But not for too long because the bed is really quite comfortable and lying down is good.
Sometimes, with a silent plea to the gods, he tries to move the fingers of his right hand. And tries not to panic when he finds that he can't.
He would truly go out of his mind if not for Helga. And this idea of Athelstan's is the next best thing to divine intervention.
Early in the morning, Helga wakes up and carefully slips out of bed, not wanting to disturb Floki. She cooks breakfast for the both of them, porridge, as it's the only thing Floki can eat at the moment. Gently waking him, she helps him sit up, and she spoonfeeds him, sharing the porridge out of the same bowl.
Later, with the assistance of a servant, Helga changes Floki's bandages and applies a fresh healing paste to his wounds. The gouges in his side still ooze blood, but they don't seem infected. Helga only worries that they're too deep to close up properly.
For Floki, sitting up to have the bandages removed and the clean ones wrapped around him is painful, as his ribs still feel as if they're stabbing his lungs with every breath he takes. But he is determined to do some things on his own. Like standing. With the help of a wooden staff, of course. But not for too long because the bed is really quite comfortable and lying down is good.
Sometimes, with a silent plea to the gods, he tries to move the fingers of his right hand. And tries not to panic when he finds that he can't.
He would truly go out of his mind if not for Helga. And this idea of Athelstan's is the next best thing to divine intervention.
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He smiles -- without that place, some very recent developments with Athelstan would have been very unlikely to have happened.
"Including the awesome future, and the really big ships!"
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Which sort of starts a brief coughing fit, and he winces at the pain in his chest, even though he remains stubbornly undaunted by it.
Helga comes over with a cup in her hand.
"Look at you two, plotting and planning like little boys," she says, as she helps Floki lift his head to drink his medicine.
"Wait, is this the one that tastes like reindeer piss?" he asks, before putting his lips to the cup.
"No, not this one. You'll drink that one later before supper."
Floki lays his head back on the pillow. "Always something to look forward to, Ragnar," he chuckles.
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Still the farmer, in his metaphors.
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"Mmm," Floki hums, his eyes closed. "Always something to look forward to..."
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And with that, he nods at each of them, and walks out of the hut, to where Björn and Athelstan are waiting.
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