Re: Sigvard's Hall: Lagertha/Ragnar
Lagertha had seen, firsthand, the way that people could flock to and follow a true leader. Even Earl Haraldson had ruled better than Sigvard currently did. She knew it, could see it as well as Ragnar could. And now that Bjorn was gone, things were different. Perhaps she could push her husband, to be a woman and a warrior and a power herself instead of simply a silent, dutiful wife.
Perhaps. Perhaps if Ragnar had not accompanied her. Perhaps if she had returned on her own with reasons that she was alone and missing the warriors. Perhaps if there was not violence behind the expressions of both current and former husband as they gazed across the hall at each other.
So even though she was still in her armor, still with the dust of the road on her skin and clothing, she nodded and stepped forward toward her husband. "I shall attend to you, husband, but I am still dusty from the road. Hardly fitting to take a place at the table. Let me clean the road from my skin first." The words caught somewhere between request and telling him what she was going to do with or without his 'permission', though she still waited for his agreement before stepping away.
And he did. His nod came reluctantly, after a long look across the room at where Ragnar had claimed his own seat, but before Lagertha stepped away, he reached up and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her close to crush ale-sour lips against hers in a claiming that was hardly a true kiss. His eyes remained open, shifted at an angle where he could still glare at Ragnar even as his fingers dug into the back of Lagertha's neck, tongue forcing into her mouth. It lasted too long, those around them looking away with discomfort but no sign that such actions were a surprise to them.
When it had gone on too long, just as Lagertha's fingers twitched toward the knife on her belt, Sigvard finally shoved her away, surprisingly strong even in his drunkenness, and she nearly hit the table as she was moved quickly and forcefully away. Her eyes faded from their blue to a grey that challenged that of Thor's skies as she glared at Sigvard. There were no words in that moment, simply a nod of her own, jerky and on the verge of violence as she turned away. They were still that riotous color when her gaze caught Ragnar's for just that second across the hall, death in the shine of them.
But then she was gone, back within rooms that held her own things, softer dresses and her own furs, a basin to quickly clean the journey from her skin. The minutes were long, but she rebraided her hair as well before re-emerging into the hall, walking directly over to take her place at Sigvard's side, once again the flawless outer appearance of a dutiful wife, even as her thoughts roiled around each other.