He had come because he had no choice. It had felt like he had been pulled here, like a calling that he couldn't ignore.
It felt like home. The scent before he even saw the clearing threw Ragnar back to when he would drink and feast with his own people, the smell of fire and meat and alcohol, the sound of laughter and warmth.
And Ragnar wore furs, skins, the clothes that had somehow stayed preserved with him. At his side he had a small knife, honed of stone and wood. He wasn't the Ragnar that wandered around from day to day here. He was perhaps not a king again, but he was something else.
His heart stopped in his chest when he saw her standing by the central fire. There was a moment, a single, glorious moment- but it passed. His gods were not that generous, they were not that forgiving, they didn't forget. And some of them ran through the trees now. They did not care for him.
Ragnar watched until she looked up, looked at him. He didn't know if he would have stood there all night, had she not. But he walked towards her when beckoned, stepping up to the fire, keeping his distance even as he drank in the way the firelight danced over her skin the way he remembered-
"You remind me of a woman who holds half of my heart-" he said softly, sincerely, his head ducked.