Ragnarr had remained by his Queen’s side even as the sun had sunk low to the horizon. As he gazed upon her in the fiery light of dusk, wave upon wave of peace had washed over him, finally granting his war-torn heart a moment’s rest. Night fell upon them, and the dark sky above was illuminated with bright, brilliant stars. The sky was just as clear from where they stood upon the mountain’s peak as it had been in their homeland, far to the north. And yet, even the radiance of the heavens could not pull Ragnarr’s undivided attention from the face of the one he loved.
Lagertha had said it herself, hours earlier. He was of her soul. And she was of his. Their bond was such that no power could break it. This mountain itself stood as their witness.
Come dawn Ragnarr pressed his scarred muzzle to Lagertha’s cheek in a lingering touch, and then he descended the mountain to fulfil his oath to her as her Guardian. But during his vigil patrolling the eastern slopes with the river that ran down the rocky mountain into a small freshwater lake, he caught the scent of an intruder upon the air, and heard the sound of a distant battle. The cries echoed off the rocky ledges and rang down the valleys, and Ragnarr, still unfamiliar to the terrain, was too late. The wind carried Lagertha’s scent to him now, and beckoned him to the south. The Fates would guide him, and without hesitation, he followed their lead.
Past the Falls he cantered, his ears catching their distant roar. But upon reaching the borders of the great Meadow, he slowed to a trot, and then stopped altogether. There were many scents here, muddled, and he cast about in vain, trying to catch any trace of the mare he’d follow to the ends of the earth and beyond. Ragnarr screamed his frustration, and struck at the turf beneath him with a forehoof. He turned his seeing eye away from the Meadow, and looked to the south again, casting his attention to the sparser Common gathering place.
The wind had dropped, but Ragnarr felt compelled to wait. Minutes passed, and no figures came into sight. A gentle breeze tugged playfully at his thick mane, and suddenly he stiffened. A familiar scent taunted him, but it was not Lagertha’s, nor the stranger who’d dared take her… Ivar. Taking this as the sign he’d been waiting for, the smoky grullo stallion followed the faint scent trail south. If he knew anything about the one who was like a brother to him, it was that he would seek for himself a piece to mirror the life he’d left in the Northern Lands where they had ruled as conquerors. The Icelandic stallion was certain that it had not been Ivar who’d taken Lagertha, but a bachelor herd was as good a place as any to start his search for her.
As the scent of Ivar, along with many other males, grew stronger, Ragnarr slowed in his approach, praying in his heart that his beloved Shield Maiden was unharmed and that she knew he would be coming for her. He was on high alert, but none opposed him as they entered, and he was fortunate that Fenrir did not detect him and send Ivar barrelling into his path. There was little doubt in his mind that it would be sooner, rather than later, that their paths would cross. But for now, his attention was elsewhere.
Within his chest, Ragnarr’s heart beat like the drums of war when he picked up Lagertha’s trail again, but he forced himself to a halt. It would not do to charge in completely blind. Methodically, the smoky grullo brute brushed up against trees that showed signs of smoothed, worn bark, evidently used by others to relieve any itching or discomfort they couldn’t reach. The stagnating marsh nearby gave off a strong smell itself, and tentatively Ragnarr waded in, experiencing a split-second moment of panic when his chipped hooves lost purchase on the mud bank beneath the lagoon bog and covered him with a little more muck than he would’ve liked. He fought off the urge to shake too much of the swamp water from his coat as he clambered ashore. And then, he returned to his hunt.
Ragnarr took care to keep his pace unhurried and his body relaxed as he drew closer. It became increasingly difficult the stronger her scent became, for his heart was desperate for her, but he was a warrior, and had learned long ago to distance himself from emotion when emotion would only hinder him, or bring harm to those he cared for. This was what had made it possible for him to leave Lagertha behind for all those years – he’d locked his heart away, believing that this was the best way for him to protect her. He’d done this so well that he’d almost lost himself to the madness of war. To this day, however, the scent of blood still drew him, and Ragnarr feared becoming a slave to battle again.
And then he sees a glimpse of her pale golden mane through a break in the trees, and he cannot help but turn his face to take in the sight of her completely, with his one good eye. She is still some distance away, and the one who dared take her remains close. Ragnarr dropped his head and turned away, biding his time, his mind racing and formulating a plan. His movements are small and quiet, and he noses among the roots of trees, as if searching for a meagre mouthful of grass. The warrior-mare’s voice is carried to him, and he catches her foreign words, and insult she doesn’t even give the bachelor stallion the privilege of understanding. Ragnarr burned with pride, and could not help the smile from spreading across his lowered muzzle. Even in the depths of this damp, murky place, Lagertha still blazed like the brightest of flames.
Carefully, slowly, Ragnarr drifts closer, keeping his head low as he continues to forage. There is only silence from the other stallion, and when the captive mare spoke again, her words biting in their sarcasm, Ragnarr seized his chance, and fiercely hoped that Lagertha would be able to play along. Lifting his head sharply, still chewing on a clump of grass, the Icelandic stallion approached, snorting in irritation. The gold and white male spoke words that made Ragnarr’s blood boil. If any of them dared to touch her… Somehow, he managed to swallow his rage along with his mouthful of grass. “Got a live one there,” he grunted, impressed. Then he spared Lagertha a glance. “Ain’t no way to show thanks for hospitality.” With his voice he sneered at her, but with his eyes, he begged for her forgiveness.
Ragnarr was not the easiest to read, but this mare, his Queen, had always seen the flicker of light in the very depths of him, and he silently prayed that she saw it now, beneath the indifference that he wore as a disguise, just like the drying coat of mud upon his legs and chest. For a moment, he seemed to dismiss her entirely, returning his focus to the stallion. “Name’s Ragnarr,” he said by way of introduction. “I’ve recently arrived, following the trail of my brother, Ivar. He and I used to live among a band of brothers like yours, here. By your leave, I would stay here awhile, while I seek to reunite with him.”
With that said, Ragnarr shifted his weight, posture relaxed. “I’m a capable fighter, and could prove myself useful,” he said, his tone even. Recalling the stallion’s earlier words to Lagertha, Ragnarr assumed he wasn’t interested in Lagertha himself, which would hopefully make this easier. “Could start right now,” he grinned, casting a sly glance at Lagertha. “This one seems like a handful. I could take care of her, if you have other matters to attend to.” And he turned to face her fully, not yet drawing close. Looked her up and down, leering, and then risked a step forwards, and nudged her roughly with his muzzle. “Treystu mér,” he breathed as he drew back, the words barely audible, meant only for the ears of the mare.
And then to the stallion he spoke again, as if Lagertha weren’t even there. “She certainly is a feisty one. Reminds me of a woman I loved and lost.” His clear eye gleamed darkly, as he waited near the stallion, deferring to him. “I could keep her entertained for a while, if you wished, and report to you later to determine how else I can prove my worth to you.” How easy it had been to slip back into this way of life... It was concerning to Ragnarr, but he would resign himself to this fate if it was the only way he could ensure Lagertha’s safety. Memories that he’d tried to bury came crawling back into the light. Time would tell if this stallion would accept him, or reject him. Either way, there would be battles in Ragnarr’s future. Either he would fight for this stallion, if he were to give Ragnarr what he wanted, or he would fight against him until the very end.
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