King Ragnar Imagines

What Is Coming

The gods haunted him like a second skin. Ragnar never knew what they wanted, but he knew one thing; a change was coming. It was a permanent one. These skills that he developed had yet to lead him astray– and yes, he had been sitting on this little rock for a while. Soon, he would approach Rollo about it.

"Father?" The meek voice belonging to his sweet Gyda was gently calling out to him. "What are you doing?"

Ragnar had pressed into his daughter's bed, loose trousers on his chest in the dead of winter. It was cold. Colder still in their little farmhouse with only Ragnar's ingenuity to cover them. Their farm wasn't much, but he still owned land. A part of the karl class, he was a man that could voice his opinion to that fool Haraldson.

"It's cold." Ragnar grumbles, sliding in among her furs.

Gyda scoots from the middle of the bed when he motions her to. "I could fetch you more furs?" She turns up her bright eyes toward him, glittering like precious gems. Ragnar slides his arms around his sweet little girl, her honey hair tinged with the same streaks as her mother. She was beautiful and– so pale. Light, willowy. She's approaching the age that others would be looking for a bride. It's too fast for Ragnar, so, he holds her a little closer to his scarred chestt.

"You want me to throw you out into the cold?" Ragnar grunts, heavy with sleep. He holds her warmly. "You're a better pillow. Hold still, your father wants to sleep."

She giggles. "Father?"

Ragnar looks down to her, the itchy strands of his beard against her head. "Yes?"

"You can let go of me any time now."