The Battlemaiden Posted on April 30, 2020 at 06:04:18 PM by RAGNFRIDR
She needn’t look far, for it was as if the universe had bowed to her will -- as most things tended to -- Lagertha appears. Her coat is quite handsome, especially so as she wears the marks of a kappi. This only makes Ragnfridr’s heart soar, and the fires of pride burn within her once again, more so as she recognizes her accent. Ragnfridr was a bastard to her ancestral home, born to an outsider who could never hope to understand what it would mean to live a life such as theirs, but her sire, the mighty brindle stallion Ragnarok, had ensured that all culture was not lost. And so, when Ragnfridr replies to Lagertha with a ” Kveđjur “ of her own, her tongue is audibly and noticeably alien. Which was to say, it wasn’t her native tongue, but it is clear she is more than familiar.
Lagertha regards Ragnfridr’s marks with admiration, which is enough to have the handsomely built mare to arch her powerful neck, allowing the waves of her dark ashy mane to trickle in waves down the stern features of her heavy head. But a complete surprise was added to the mix, as they’re boldly approached by another. Handsome is he, tall, and heavy; she recognizes him in an instant. Many a time, they have gone round and round, delivering blow upon blow. Such was the nature of her and his relationship; it was impressionable. So much so, that she had sculpted his name upon the stone of her heart, making him as one who would forever hold her respect. Forever.
Once upon a time, Ragnfridr wouldn’t have hesitated to throw herself at the spotted stallion, offended that he had charmed her, tempted her from her rocky peaks, impregnated her, only to allow her to escape his grasp--Twice!-- but more offended at herself for not simply accepting him for what he was. For accepting that even he had his limitations. All of those times she’d spent screaming and gnashing her teeth at him; they had been her desire to see him in the same light that her sire had seen--nay, expected of her.
But she was older, now. Wiser, too… And regrettably, Ragnfridr didn’t wish to fight someone who didn’t wish to keep her.
.. Not that she’d ever needed it. For long ago, the scarred mare had been an established peak mare. Much as this one before her seemed to be. At least, she smelled of the familiar dust that hung on those rocky peaks. In that moment, Ragnfridr saw not Lagertha, but an ancient reflection of what once was. And if it had been possible, she might have smiled. Ragnfridr stands a bit taller, and with the lash of her tail, picks up from the irish man’s words, ” The age of Valkyrie and monsters is done. “ she replies, not necessarily with defeat, but, with acceptance. ” My scars were won, long ago, against a big cat on the isles. Wicked was he, black as night and claws like you would never imagine. I was one, at the time. “ she replies, ” But my sister was young. Maybe only a few days old. Little ones are so easily broken, at that age. “ she replies.
“ My father, I don’t remember where he was -- probably chasing one of my older brothers away. Such was not my place, but if I could help it, I was not going to let the beast take her. “ she says, levelling her green eyes upon Lagertha. ” Surviving that day forever set the stones of my path. “
And it was true -- Ragnfridr had contended with, and conquered death. On that day, the Battlemaiden was born. ” You seem as though you’ve your own stories to share, however. I would like to hear them, if you would like to share. “ She says, before turning her attention to Bondurant. He could note the way she studies him; inquisitive, and uncertain. The look she wore was every bit as strange as her lack of desire to establish dominance over him.
“ Bondurant. “ she breathes, at long last. And just as it seems as though she is about to say more, she falls flat. What more could there be said? However, instead of letting the silence hang, she settles. “ .. It has been a while. “
Onward into the heart of battle, fought the sisters of Odin
And in their hour of their need, he sent forth onto them, the berserker rage.
Now, gods and men, they rose up from the ground, screaming like wild animals.
Such is the gift of absolute power.
All who stood before them died that day, hail the gods of war!
-The Battlemaiden