Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Allusion to past trauma.

READ THE SIGNS

Athelstan blinked but the information on screen didn't change. SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden had both left him kudos on his fic. Athelstan's mouth worked but nothing came out. Two of the biggest BNFs in the Game of Thrones fandom had liked his work.

He didn't do anything for several minutes, his hands resting on his keyboard in a sort of numb state of shock. Then he very quickly minimised his browser window, his heart now feeling like it was thumping louder than anything else. He was supposed to be doing a lot of writing and he was usually very disciplined but now...

SonOfOdin had written some of the most read fic in the fandom, full of the kind of filth and blood that Athelstan usually avoided but even he'd peeked at those stories and had been drawn in by the skilful complex prose and imagery. And ShieldMaiden wrote the best episode recaps and research posts and sometimes drew stunning evocative fanart. It was a well-known fact that the two of them were a couple, it was one of the few personal notions the two of them had revealed via their tumblrs, that and the existance of their two children. They were private people.

And they'd given Athelstan kudos.

He got up abruptly and went to make himself a cup of tea, his hands shaking. He couldn't concentrate on writing now.

As the kettle began to warm up, Athelstan wondered just why SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden had taken an interest in his work. His stories were so different to anything they were involved in and it wasn't like he'd ever talked to them online before. When he'd first started watching Game of Thrones, he'd been drawn to the different depictions of faith and religion, personal and public. It was what he'd found most interesting about the books too so it was what he wrote a lot of fic about, exploring how faiths and gods could affect the characters, how it could draw them together as well as split them apart. His work didn't get a lot of attention but Athelstan kept writing and reading what else the fandom had to offer, when he wasn't making a living through his non-fic writing or diving into his other fandoms.

He'd found SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden in a few fandoms though loved their Game of Thrones work best. He especially loved ShieldMaiden's fanart, he'd even considered printing out one or two of her pieces to hang on his wall; they were that fascinating. There was something about the character and spirit present in her pictures that left him slightly breathless, particularly her work involving the Drowned God and the Storm God, concepts that he shouldn't have found comfortable at all, let alone compelling. He'd never told her that though.

Athelstan poured the tea and went back to his laptop. There was a Twitter DM waiting for him from Siggy, a mod friend who kept a strong eye and a firm hand on a couple of forums. Her icon was currently an image of a hatched baby dragon, perched on Daenerys' shoulder. It made Athelstan smile and made him feel steadier.

Stop freaking out.

Siggy knew him so well. I'm drinking tea now.

And still freaking out.

A little bit.

Athelstan took a deep breath. The kudos were still there. That wasn't going to change. He could just see Siggy shaking her head as she typed.

Kudos are always a good thing.

True. Athelstan sipped at his tea; he might even get more views if people heard that SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden had liked his fic. There were always consequences. Athelstan thought about the sign-language video he was going to post on tumblr that night, the latest in a series of videos he'd been posting that featured just his hands. This one would show them wishing people a good weekend.

Siggy continued, They've probably read your other works too, I'll let you know.

Right. Siggy knew SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden outside of the internet. She'd revealed that only a few weeks ago, adding that she didn't talk about it because they liked their privacy but that she trusted Athelstan not to pass on anything she told him. Athelstan had never asked Siggy what they were like, their appearances or their lives. He knew what it was like to want to keep some things private.

Bjorn's driving was getting better. Athelstan told him so when Bjorn managed more than passable parallel parking when he delivered Athelstan's groceries. Bjorn grinned.

"Definitely good enough to earn a tip."

Athelstan smiled slightly and signed his thanks for Bjorn's rapid delivery and for bringing the groceries inside too. Bjorn was his most frequent delivery driver and sometimes spent time with Athelstan afterwards learning sign-language. Athelstan had the free time, his work deadlines were well spaced out. He had a couple of magazine articles due in by the end of the week and a website piece due after that. He didn't often have company.

Bjorn was rash and impatient but good at his job. He'd told Athelstan about his girlfriend who he thought might be pregnant. He wasn't worried about his parents' reaction or hers; he was more concerned about the fact that his girlfriend's work could be dangerous, apparently.

Athelstan had signed to Bjorn that he'd pray for him, Bjorn had laughed.

Athelstan was drafting a story about R'hllor and how worshippers could have first called upon the Fiery God to bring back the dawn when Siggy sent him an email.

They're asking about you.

That stopped Athelstan in his tracks. He'd been scrolling through both of their tumblrs more than usual. SonOfOdin's latest post was a photograph of a figure standing on a pebbly beach, staring out at flat endless water. The figure was indistinct and possibly nude. SheildMaiden had posted about weaponry in Westeros, using photographs of medieval swords and shields alongside high-quality screencaps.

Athelstan thought about their beautiful prose and art, the intensity and passion that always came through. He thought about the likes that he'd recently gotten on his tumblr from both SonOfOdin and ShieldMaiden. Goosebumps ran over his skin and down his spine. It was all still unnerving but it also still drew him in, even their work involving the ironborn's gods, it all still occupied his thoughts. People didn't usually have that effect on Athelstan.

On his tumblr, he posted a photograph that he'd recently found of a wolf that had left indelible footprints across a snowy landscape, followed by a quick video clip of his hands signing Is it winter yet?

He licked his dry lips, clenched his fists and opened Skype, What do they want to know?

Athelstan didn't talk about why he hadn't become a priest. He didn't talk about where he'd lived before. He didn't talk about why his hands shook sometimes or why he had problems with his breathing. He didn't talk about why he spent so much time on his computer, in his house, in fandom.

He only ever talked with his hands, by writing and with sign language.

Siggy had agreed not to send any photographs; instead she told Athelstan she'd tell them his first name and only a little more, some essential background. Siggy also gave him their names – Ragnar and Lagertha. Athelstan didn't even try to Google them, that wouldn't be fair. He turned their names over and over in his mind, though he tried to concentrate on his story about greenseers talking to the tiniest creatures in Westeros and how that perspective affected them.

Bjorn noticed that something was bothering him; flat-out asking him what was on his mind. Athelstan felt a bit helpless to explain.

"I think I might have secret admirers," he settled on signing at last.

Bjorn's eyebrows shot up, "Like, how secret? Because we call that stalking now, bro."

Athelstan raised a smile at that. Siggy was a good judge of character and wouldn't steer him towards anyone that she thought would be a problem. She knew him too well for that. And there was something about the way Ragnar and Lagertha had approached him, something about their fanworks and tumblrs. It was all so different to what Athelstan usually surrounded himself with and what he usually found comforting, but he felt drawn to it all as well. It felt like something important was happening somehow, something important and unnerving but inspiring.

Athelstan read Ragnar's stories and gazed at Lagertha's art. The two of them had God-given gifts and real passion always visible in their work. They seemed most focused on the battles in Game of Thrones but Athelstan had noticed that they seemed equally interested in the family and relationship dynamics. The more he'd noticed it, the more obvious it'd become.

He worked more on his priest story and thought about the seminary and Father Cuthbert. They hadn't had a conversation for several weeks. He received emails telling him that Lagertha had bookmarked two of his fics and that Ragnar had favourited one.

He reblogged a really evocative piece of artist's impression fanart that he'd recently stumbled across, featuring The Lady of The Waves. Then he recorded a video to post later, just his hands signing I want to know more.

He saved it and emailed Siggy, asking if they could meet for a drink later that week.

Siggy replied tellingly quickly, You read my mind.

Siggy presented Athelstan with a large glass of vodka and coke which she knew he wouldn't even drink half of and a slip of paper.

"Their Skype names."

The paper crinkled in Athelstan's hand. He stared down at it for a moment, then smoothed the paper out carefully before folding it away into his pocket. They were really interested in communicating with him. He'd received kudos from Ragnar and Lagertha on a few more of his fics. His breathing became a little shallow.

Siggy clasped one of his hands firmly in a way that meant she expected him to listen and give her his full attention.

"They're just people, Athelstan, and they want to get to know you."

That could mean so many things and Athelstan signed so. Siggy squeezed his hand in understanding, her eyes kind but intent.

"They're people who like your work."

That made something warm and steady settle inside of Athelstan and he sipped a bit of his drink as Siggy unloaded about the problems she was having with her husband's business.

Despite how much other writing he did, Athelstan wasn't good at posting anything really personal on tumblr. He felt better that way, he understood why Ragnar and Lagertha were the same. He reblogged mostly, or posted links to his stories, or added captions and did brief posts in sign-language, always just his hands. Now he stared at his basic background, which depicted green hills and sparkling waterways.

He thought about the images he'd been dreaming of lately; he thought about how often both Ragnar and Lagertha preoccupied his thoughts. He thought about the slip of paper, still lodged in his pocket.

His fingertips grazed the keyboard. Then he posted a single sentence:

I feel like I'm about to cross the Iron Sea.

Then he exited tumblr and opened Skype. The paper rustled when he retrieved it. They wanted to get to know him. His hands shook a little as he added both names to his friends list. Neither of them were online, Athelstan still clicked on Ragnar's name. Athelstan stared for a long moment at Ragnar's picture; Ragnar was tanned and shirtless, his chest covered in intricate-looking tattoos. Athelstan thought that he could see a couple of House emblems from Game of Thrones, it made him smile.

Ragnar had really astonishing eyes; Athelstan couldn't stop staring at him. He quickly clicked onto Lagertha's name. She was almost in profile, looking over one shoulder, and holding what looked like a replica of Brienne of Tarth's sword. Athelstan couldn't stop staring at her either.

He opened a Word document and started writing to distract himself, prose slowly taking shape about a heart tree that didn't stop bleeding.

Tumblr updated in the background. His tumblr post had been liked. Lagertha had posted a brief video entry at her own tumblr. Athelstan's heart jumped. The video was a pair of hands, wearing several eye-catching rings and one metal wrist cuff, were they Lagertha's hands? They were signing, without context, So don't cross it alone.

Skype beeped at him.

-the end