King Ragnar Imagines

His Princess [Platonic]

When Gyda died everything changed. It all fell apart. Your mother and father were faced with a strange woman who, in your eyes, needed so many warriors because she could not protect herself. A woman ought to be able to protect herself, mother showed you that. Yet for your father's sake, you kept your mouth sealed just as you thought you should. For father and your new brothers... you stayed behind. Bjorn needed your mother and you needed father.

"I am fine! Father stop!"

You wrestle onto your side away from him. There by your feet he sat, his hands on his knees, flinching at every cough that hacked its way up your throat. At an especially nasty one he crawled to your side of the bed like a bear to its cub, slapping his hands around your waist to hold you tight.

"Father please! I can't take this constant stuffy affection." Your clammy hands press at Ragnar's chest. He ignored your calls for him to stop cuddling, only nestling his head against yours with a bump of your heads together. Eventually your squirming protests subsided into a bout of stubborn pouting when you realized that it was fruitless.

"Once you are well, I will leave." He says as he fiddles with a soft wave of your hair between his fingertips.

"I am not Gyda..." Your words catch in your throat tensely. There is a great lull, and eventually Ragnar hovers over you with his heavy lidded eyes. You felt in the middle of your two siblings. Gyda was the one who flew away to the gods and Bjorn was his shining light of the heavens as his son. Now they were both gone.

"I did not say you were (Y/N)." He says after a passing of moment.

"You hover over me." You reprimand when your father clicks his tongue sharply. He drops like a weight is on his shoulders back onto the bed. When his eyes slide back open, his crystalline eyes look into yours.

"You are all I have left." Ragnar admits.

"No, you have Ubbe and Hvitserk. And that woman can give you more and more children, that is why you fancied her over mother." Your tongue glides over your dry lips. 'That woman,' was Aslaug. You knew her name, but it pained your lips like the scalding ache of a hot brand newly taken off the fire. Your father inhales sharply enough that you knew he was about to reprimand you.

"Aslaug," Your lips part and you say her name. The word hitches your breath and aches in a deep place within your heart. It wasn't completely her fault, it was his too. Ragnar releases his breath and the both of you look up the the ceiling chasing the patterns above.

"No. Aslaug was witty and beautiful, I could not help myself. I did not choose her over your mother. If the gods would allow it, I would have kept both my wives." He explains. There is a vast confusion in your heart over what this meant. The men in town, they did not have many wives. Some earls, you were told, did. Neither Lagertha or Aslaug seemed to be tolerant of your father's advances towards other women. So was it natural to have one or the other?

"Then one day, is it right that my husband will too have many wives?" You ask, rubbing your nose against the edge of your sleeve. His thoughts bounced above his head. Witty replies of how you should aim for a man better than he or focus on your dream of being a shield maiden. But in the end Ragnar stutters in defeat, settling to slide a few locks of your hair behind your ear.

"No, because you won't have one. Now shut up and rest."