King Ragnar Imagines

Revenge

You had a lot of titles. Over your years you accumulated many names but none as interesting to the public as ex-lover of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. He was your first and a short lived stint when he left you for his love of Lagertha. Though you supposed the relationship was never a committed one with bumps in the back of barns and in the thicket of the forests.

"Ugh!" Your back buckled back onto the sandy beach.You roll onto your side as a blade slams into the sand. As quickly as it was dug in, it pulled back. The King strolled around when you stood back up, shaking grains of sand out of your neatly braided hair.

"Are you sure you don't want to run back to your farm?" Ragnar roared a laugh. But why would you go back there– Ragnar made you a widow with his insistence on raiding. There was nothing there anymore.

"Shut the hel up," You groaned, raising the sword off the ground. "If your priest can raid, so can I."

You bid your time. Both Ragnar and you traced circles into the beach, washed away by the waves washing ashore. You were the first to charge again. Just as last time, Ragnar moved to sidestep you. But this time, you caught yourself right as you were about to spread ways and twirled on your bare toes to slam your elbow square into the bridge of his nose. It would probably be another crook to his weathered face– but that was the appeal of him. He wasn't just a king, he was a warrior.

"Fuck," Ragnar says. The droplets of thick, crimson blood were caught by his beard.

"Aha! How does that feel Ragnar!" You bent your knees, hopping in elation in place. The King wipes away blood from his nose. He shoots you a look while shaking his head, plopping beside the shore.

"I've never busted your ass, (Y/N)." Ragnar notes.

It's nothing personal. At least, it's not supposed to be. You spent hours upon hours training with other people who never batted their eyes at you doing the same. Although your eyes roll, you drop beside him. Your legs prop up.

"It's nothing personal." You say, echoing the words Ragnar spoke to you from your youth. It was nothing personal that he left you... so maybe a little bit of you wanted to make it "nothing personal" that you whipped his ass for pent up emotions. Because after all, he deserved it.

"I see what you were doing there, love." Ragnar lifts a bloody hand up to your shoulder, winding about the back of your neck. His hand tenses, so you speak.

"What was I doing?" You ask, sliding your hand around to his mighty grip on your nape.

"Revenge."