King Ragnar Imagines

Calypso

It was not for nothing that Ragnar hadn't returned home to his family in Kattegat. He planned to walk away, just for a little, to clear his mind. He meant to come back. The others would be waiting for him to account for his failure but something nagged at him to go home to Aslaug.

"Are you still mad?"

Ragnar closes his eyes, arms around his knees as he looks out along flat and still waters. The early morning dew mists across the waters where he sits, looking out on the grainy shore. He forces himself to exhale under the allure of your voice that fell over him like the thick marinades you poured over your meats. It sunk deep into his skin, pleading with him to look up to your eyes.

He couldn't. He would want to stay.

"My love, just one. One more year." You flutter in front of him, casting your figure over the charred remains of his boat— that somehow caught aflame.

Ragnar rolls his lower lip into his mouth, forehead tight with tension. He could stay. It would be easy to stay here where no one, not even the gods, could find him.

No. No, he had to go home. Ubbe was getting older which meant little Ivar would be getting older. If he was alive.

You drop down beside him, nuzzling your way under his arm with a contended sigh. Your willowy fingers drift against his chest, painted purple lips drifting into a little smirk. He draws back enough to tease his fingers through your hair, away from a branched headpiece.

"It hurts—" Ragnar's hand leaves the affectionate pet to your hair knowing he wouldn't leave next year. He knew he would never leave these shores until he made it happen. Right now, Sigurd would be receiving his armband. Perhaps Ivar as well.

And he would never be there to see.