Ragnar watched as Achilles tugged his clothing up around his thigh. He dressed like a woman. A little smile tugged at his own lips, and he had thought that his priest dressed strangely.
"Ragnar.. Lothbrok."
He took one of the weapons himself and examined it. It was a well made sword, balanced, carved, intricate, but a little short for his own liking.
Achilles felt the eyes–he was not stupid, he could see full well that he dressed differently to these northmen but it was a necessity after all. Greece and Rome were incredibly warm, especially compared to this place. He watched Ragnar examine the sword and he gave a little smile. He knew it was strange, looked out of place, but he didn’t care, he and his men were experienced warriors, dressed like women or not.
‘Ragnar Lothbrok,’ Achilles said, repeating slowly, and he nodded his head. 'Thank you. If I may suggest, will you allow my men to cook for all of you today?’
He didn’t think it was offensive, merely sharing, sharing all his food and drink with the man that would house him.