He seeks out his brother before any others. An unintentional tradition he
picked up somewhere along the line. Family is important to him, and the
younger of the brothers cannot rest until he knows the fate of the elder’s.
Whether he be breathing still or on his way to Valhalla with the rest of the
slain warriors, Ragnar must know.
It isn’t long before he catches sight of that familiar face, just as bloodied
and battered as his own, but Rollo still stands, still walks proud— so Ragnar
finds himself calming, finds his gaze returning to those around him rather
than frantically searching for his kin. Of course Rollo is still alive; Ragnar
could not imagine those they fought today had any hope of slaying either
of the brothers. They are far too skilled, far too talented to be slain in a
battle such as this one.
Cerulean hues latch onto one of the shieldmaidens before too long. One
of the finer ones, too: Lagertha. As beautiful as a Goddess and as brilliant
a warrior as any Valkyrie. She glances his way, and then somewhere entirely
different before he can even react. If the fair— if not blood-soaked— warrior
wished to lure Ragnar closer, her wish has been fulfilled.
Across the short expanse between them he will lope, a slight limp in his step;
a gift from one he slew not moments after he had received the injury. It bothers
him very little, as his sights are currently set on Lagertha— and he’s never been
one to let a little pain stop him from getting or doing something he wants.
"You fought well today," is the first thing he says when he’s close enough.
He raises his brows and make sure to keep in step with the shieldmaiden before
him, despite the irritation his leg is causing him. He’ll recover. He always does.
"I am sure the Gods will be impressed."
her father had spoken at length to her about the Lothbrok
brothers, ever since she had even shown a flicker of interest
in them both. one possessed the brute strength & vicious
tenacity in battle as other had a matchless spirit very similar
to her own, courage mingling with a sharp wit. unfortunately,
it was Rollo’s budding reputation that her patriarch found
repugnant as well as lacking in the necessary honour for
his blessing.
it was her father’s stare she felt upon her, boring into the
armour that sheltered her from each blow all but the one
maneuver that delivered the laceration to her cheek. the
impish smile that erupted on her tainted visage only caused
a lingering sting & scarlet to trickle from the wound. pride
swelled in her chest to know that she the bait she had purposely
cast into the bloodied waters was enticing enough to garner
attention. Ragnar had occupied the whole of her senses, what
regard she was sparing on the dead at her feet now shifting
to the warrior in her company. the soft nod was the silent show
of gratitude for his flattery.
❝ you showed great courage and skill. ❞
( if it were not for the blood littering
her skin, perhaps he would have been
able to note her own sparking color in
her cheeks. )
❝ Óðιηη has blessed us with a victory.
i am certain he smiles on you and your brother. ❞
her strides slowed to a halt as his ailment was seen,
expending a considerable amount of effort to conceal
her apparent concern, brow furrowing just slightly.
❝ —- axe or sword? ❞
the inquiry left her without conscious effort, meant to reverberate
in her skull rather than be spoken aloud, canting her head whilst
awaiting his answer, to know which weapon was the culprit.