Spurius watched fascinated how fast the food on Olaf's plate dwindled away - as if the young man inhaled it instead of eating it, and he briefly thought of the notorious nine-headed caterpillar Eirik had told him about, not a creature of mythology, more like a nightmare vision of exasperated parents. While he nibbled at a tasty bit of chicken, the Roman mused how tall Olaf might become in the end. He would be an impressive sight. No, Spurius corrected himself, he already was, being distinctly taller and outfitted with a much broader back than his father. Once he had shed the last vestiges of his still boyish features that oddly contrasted with his physique, Olaf would become a man of exceptional masculine beauty, a dream come true for those who fancied golden-haired, muscular giants.

Consequently his gaze wandered over Eirik who eyed him with a speculative look, a meaningful smile on his lips. The Roman raised an eyebrow in question, and a wicked grin spread across his lover's face. "Forget it", Spurius mouthed, knowing all too well what was on the big man's mind. The Northerner smiled complacently and raised his cup in a silent toast. "Wait and see", his expression seemed to say. "Wait and see." Spurius frowned and furtively kicked him - he certainly didn't feel like knotting his legs the way it was depicted in that blasted scroll, and somehow he felt like strangling the steward. Eirik winked at him and chuckled softly.

After they'd finished their meal down to the last morsel, Spurius gazed at father and son, feeling sleepy and comfortably stuffed. At least the scroll seemed to haven broken the ice - at long last. Olaf was talking freely, without stumbling over words or blushing over every comment he made. The youth made full use of his regained eloquence, to no small part due to the fact that he was finally able to express himself in his own tongue. Comfortably relaxed the Roman listened to the Northerners' exchanging hopelessly outdated gossip about mutual acquaintances and general memories of the past years.

"You know", Olaf finally said with a thoughtful frown, "I've asked myself more than once what would have become of me if I hadn't been abducted." Eirik rolled his eyes and took a sip from his cup. "You'd be the head of your own household by now and, given your physique, would already have bloodied your blade, no doubt." "But I never wanted to be a warrior", Olaf objected with a frown. "Neither did I", Eirik snorted. "See, should your grandfather ever have had other things in mind for you, he would have given you into the hands of someone else as an apprentice - years before you were taken away." "You mean ...", Olaf fell silent for a moment, thinking hard. "But he knew that-" "Yes, he bloody well knew!"