Ragnar stared at the newcomer, taking in his odd dress. He observed carefully the way in which his men kowtowed around him. So he was their leader, this…whatever he was.
His face was fair and shapely, but his features were strange and his clothing stranger, and there was something innately effeminate about him that irked Ragnar just a little.
When the man spoke to him, he didn’t answer, simply watched him as if he understood nothing or everything. In reality he could pick up most of what he said, thanks to the teachings of Athelstan, but this was something he would wait to reveal until a more opportune moment arose.
He circled the man as he spoke, taking him in with his own bright blue eyes until he offered him a lamb.
He glanced back at his own men, then back to the man with an amused little smile, but didn’t take it.
When the man before him did not answer he stood somewhat awkwardly, holding the lamb in his arms, against his chest. He pet the wool lazily–the animal was calm, more a pet than anything else, Achilles’ pet. He said nothing for a little while and instead just stood before him, eyes on him. Ragnar with his blue eyes and his pale skin, pale hair, the strength of multiple men beneath his clothes, of that Achilles had no doubt. He was built like a bull, large and strong, but Achilles was small and light, he could beat him.
Probably.
He did not feel particularly uncomfortable being circled and examined but having not accepted his gift he was certainly somewhat hurt. He kept the lamb at his chest, fingers moving through the wool.
‘Your lands are cold.’ He wasn’t sure if the other man could understand him or not, and in some ways he didn’t much care, all he knew was that he was here and he wasn’t about to hop back on the boat into the icy waters.