Ragnar missed his shield-maiden. He missed her with a fierce ache in the darkest contours of his heart. Leaving her had never been in the plan, nor had he necessarily wished to leave behind their infant children with her and yet the Gods had something different in mind for the Berserker; and Ragnar had to trust in Oðinn. The Allfather had greater plans for him even if he had torn him from everything he had built and all that he loved. Granted, this was not the first time Ragnar had left a busy life behind him but it was the first time in which the Northman truly felt the heavy weight of regret against his chest; though it was the absence of Thistle that he missed the most. Her smell, the contours of her small body that he knew so well, had taken the time to memorize. Yet, the longer he was away from her the more he feared he was beginning to forget. To forget her fierce temper that which rivaled the sea, the anger and passion of their fights, the bittersweet memories of the time spent making up that made each and every fight worth it. Even if he was wrong, even if she disagreed. It was always worth it, in the end.
The slate before him was clean; not plagued by the complications that his past left in it’s wake. Singular eye cast in the direction of the sun that which had taken to set over the shimmering horizon of the water. The Sea was a constant in his life and he he took comfort in that he could trust it to remain when the Allfather would tear him away from what he had built and force him to settle elsewhere as if his past had never happened. Only, it had and there was no way for the viking to remain untarnished by the relationships ...and accordingly the children ...he left behind him. They were all apart of him, his true love down to his first “wife” taken only to spite his eldest brother.
Once more the Viking found himself weary, tired. He was a conqueror and while he was still young he desired what all did: to settle, to nurture a family and stay. The sea brine kissed at his face, sticking to the puckered and pink scars, old things, that marred his face, his ears alert. He had begin to grow accustomed to having only a singular eye as Odinn did but it had shown the ugly side of it’s cons. It was still an encumbering thing, still caused strife and struggle. Yet, he believed he was still the warrior he’d always been, despite that currently this was not the case. He could function and he would learn to fight without it as one learned to fight without a limb. He was alive and as ambitious as ever and those were the most important things.
Feb 06, 2016 03:35 PM
[ ignore ]