King Ragnar Imagines

Lost and Found I

Say whatever you want, wind was and is always unpleasant. In the winter, it is like sharp icicles piercing the thin layer of your skin. You could handle the cold if not for the wind that caused you to usually drag a thick, but seemingly paper thin sweater over your teenie tiny skirts.

In the heat of summers, it's but a tease. Kind of like you at the moment. The heavy boots of strangely dressed men bounced beside the safety of a line of trees.

"The whore went this way?" One says.

"That's where I saw her." The other replies. Their steps carry them from your place behind the tree to another area entirely. You can finally exhale a breath, carried on the wind of the foreign lands. Incredibly foreign. Had you been from here, you probably never would have worn those gorgeous glittering black heels that were– at the moment, sinking in the squishy ground. To the base where you held on to the trunk of a tree that might have been as thick as your curves.

"What's that?" One of the men, with a long beaded beard, stops in his tracks. The air is suddenly stifling. You think– he must have found you out. After all, in this lush green forest, there were nothing but the rustles of deer and plips of rabbit in the forest. Not until the slight and audible rustle just slightly right of you shook you out of your thoughts.

A young, athletic man whom burst with bow at his side. He releases one arrow, plunging into the back of those who pursued you. He abandons the bow for favour of a sturdy wooden axe, launching into the head of another. You duck back around the tree, rushing toward another. He was killing them!

Don't get it wrong, you much rather them than you. On many accounts... on the account of these men who had tried to carry you off. Yet also, you didn't exactly want to be on the receiving end of that axe that was wrapped in his short digits.

"You can't run far on those alone." The newcomer has a voice of honey. Sweet and low, caring. As if he were!

"You're scaring her, Ragnar." A second voice. This one, feminine... but strong. You find her like a strong, unwavering pyramid in the unforgiving Egyptian wildlife. She sounds as if she takes no shit. None at all.

You peep forth. The pair, bloody among a sea of your pursuers. The woman was just as bloody as the man! The woman takes a step forth, wiping her blade off and sheathing it quickly.

"What is your name girl?" She asks.

"(Y/N)." You answer.

The blonde sets her hand atop of the pummel of her sword. You note the strange braiding across the sides of her head, and even more, the strange... strange attire that has become all too common in the last day. Her dark trousers stuffed into sturdy boots. Some sort of tunic sits underneath heavy chainmail and tightly wrapped gloves. At some point, you had to admit that maybe you shouldn't have had that much to drink before leaving for that club... and taking that detour past the witch's shop.

"I see." She holds your eyes in her vibrant blue ones. "You're the girl we've heard so much about." She steps forward. The man beside her as well, and you flinch, ready to run. She motions her man to be patient.

"Um, I guess so." You murmur. She offers her hand out to you. "And you?"

You look down to her extended hand as if it might bite. You have the sudden feeling that if she was going to bite an unprotected woman, she probably already would have done it by this point. So you step out from the tree.

"Lagertha... I." She seems to lose her breath, taking you in. "What strange clothes."

"Oh." You look down to your dress, glimmering with sparkling gems on your breasts. "It's just a minidress." You take your hand in hers and look towards the man, standing with his head bowed to the ground. Your heels feel as if they've twisted your ankle more than once.

"I wear small things to bed too." She says evenly– then looks to her partner. "This is my husband Ragnar."

You audibly sigh in relief. A husband– that meant he wouldn't be as psychotic as the men that you had encountered in the past! Not with this strangely... sexy woman with her hand atop of her slender hips.

"I take it you aren't from Kattegat." She looks you up then down again.

"Where is Kattegat?" You ask.

She looks to Ragnar whose hand has swept over his beard. Lagertha's hand loosens as Ragnar comes up beside you. Your eyes ghost over his bearded jawline– minding your traveling eyes that dip low across the tan flesh that peeps out from under his tunic. Small scars wrap scar across his flesh, lightened by the light streaming in from above.

"Tell me of your homeland. You have such strange customs." His whispers gruffly, pulling your waist in the direction from with his wife and he came. Stupidly, of course, you follow out toward the forest of trees out closer to the water's edge where the family resided.

"Well... it's nothing like here." You tell him starting up lush green hills.

"I never would have guessed."