Meat and meet (Beowulf)

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If his father and uncle had only known that their gods were here in this heathen land, then perhaps they would have come as well. Beowulf knew that it was an honor to meet and serve the gods while he still lived, but it was a strange thing to wrap his head around. He had always known that he would meet the gods in death, but this was not death. It was strange. He wondered if Astrid had met them, though she probably had if he had. There weren’t many places you could go around here without running into one of them.

Fenrir didn’t know how to hunt as a human which relieved both relieved Beowulf and concerned him. Fenrir had no knowledge of how to use a weapon, so he would not be inclined to use one against people. However, he didn’t know how to handle a weapon and could seriously injure someone if he picked one up. Well, Beowulf would just have to teach him. “No matter,” he told the god. “I’ll teach you.”

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Fenrir regarded him thoughtfully for a long, silent moment. He wasn't quite sure how to take the offer, the bluntness of it kept him from being too offended. It was just so straightforward and matter-of-fact, there was nothing patronising or mocking about it, though he considered it carefully to make certain he shouldn't be offended in any way. Pride was something the gods had in spades, and he wasn't all that different.

Where was the shame, however? In learning something that he didn't know? Surely it would be worse, more embarrassing, to be bad at hunting. Much better to accept the offer of help and not show himself up - surely it wouldn't be that difficult to learn, he knew the fundamentals of hunting so it would just be learning to use a weapon - which was something he really ought to get round to doing anyway.

"Very well." he nodded.

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For a moment Beowulf wasn’t sure if had should have said anything in the first place. He had just offered to teach a god something that he should be able to know how to do in the first place. He was a hunter by nature. A wolf. If he took the offer as an insult then a fight would mostly break out. The Viking Prince tensed unconsciously as he waited for an answer. He would fight if that was what Fenrir wanted. It was a matter of pride after all. A Viking that didn’t fight was less than a man. No Viking backed down from a fight.

Beowulf would just prefer not to fight the god. It was one thing to fight, but it was another to fight and know that there was no way he could win. Fenrir was a wolf in the body of a man. Beowulf’s own strength couldn’t be stronger than that of a god. It was impossible.

He relaxed when Fenrir agreed to being taught. Beowulf couldn’t promise to be a good teacher, but he would do what he could. He nodded. Fenrir was already promising to be a better companion than Astrid.

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Fenrir wasn't exactly the most well-versed in social graces, and it's debatable whether he would pay attention to them even if he was, so when he had finished his food he saw no reason to linger any longer in Beowulf's presence. He felt good about the meeting, considered himself to have been successful in his endeavours, and greatly looked forward to the hunting tomorrow, but he also considered that to be business concluded and nothing more to be said.

The closest he got to obeying modern - or any - social convention was to wipe his hands clean after he had finished eating. Admittedly, he did this on his jeans, but you couldn't expect everything. Standing up, he lifted his tray, remembering last minute that there was some rule about disposing of it when you were finished eating.

"Until tomorrow then," he nodded to Beowulf, awaiting confirmation before he left, so he wasn't entirely impolite.

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Beowulf was still shoving the food around on his plate when he noticed that Fenrir was done and going to leave, which Beowulf might as well do because this school food was terrible. He would be kidding himself if he thought otherwise. How people could actually stomach any of this was beyond the Viking prince. But if he wasn’t going to eat it he might as well leave.

Although he had to admit that the company hadn’t been bad. He was wary of Fenrir. Fenrir was a god and could rip his throat out at a moment’s notice, but he also seemed to be more inclined towards silence which Beowulf could appreciate, even in a god. So, while hunting with the great wolf Fenrir was probably not the smartest decision he had ever made, it probably wouldn’t be so bad.

Beowulf nodded in confirmation. “Tomorrow.”