Re: Sigvard's Hall: Lagertha/Ragnar
Ragnar watched the drunken earl, watched how he moved even when his mind was laden with spirits, noticed how the people within the hall did not show surprise to see Lagertha handled so. And he watched her, that minute twitch of her fingers towards her knife, how she did not come to him as she had once come to Ragnar. The kiss was meant to shame him, to say here, look how I have your wife, but Ragnar pushed that anger down, let it harden until he could use it to his advantage.
Ragnar had never had to claim her in such a way. He had taken her eye by having strength enough to kill her protectors; he had taken her heart by respecting her. It did not diminish him by ensuring that they were equal, but made them both stronger. Sigvard had not yet learned that, not with her, and not with his people.
His hands did not stray to his own weapons, but remained on the table in full view as a serving wench came around with a horn of ale for him. And when Lagertha was released, he caught that shine in her eye, that one that promised blood and a judgment by the gods. There was no acknowledging tilt of his head, but a momentary flicker in his eyes, an acceptance, a promise that it would be done. She may say they were divorced, but there was no severing how they felt for one another, or force them to unlearn what a glance from the other meant.
While she was gone, he made conversation with the men around him. (Hralf with two daughters who caused him troubles to no end, Guðr who watched with wise eyes, Egill who wanted to know of sailing west, and Afi who was once a farmer before he moved into the town.) They were all good men, older though, their knuckles starting to gnarl, their hair filled with gray. They lived comfortable lives, where Ragnar had never sought for comfort.
Yet, he wondered. There was still the question in his eyes when Lagertha returned, dressed not as a warrior, but as an Earl's wife. There was a time to wait, and a time to rush. Now was a time to find out who would stand behind Lagertha and so he stood, grinning and cocky to lift his horn up towards Sigvard and Lagertha in a toast. What little talk was going on at the tables around them stopped as the corner of his mouth twitched, a fight to stop from grinning as his gaze moved from his former wife to her current husband. "To Lagertha and Earl Sigvard," he said calmly, a slight in calling her first.
Everyone stopped. Guðr was the first to nod, then to follow Ragnar in standing to toast the two of them as Sigvard struggled to rise. "Why do you name her first?" He slurred, finding insult even there.
Others rose, while others yet looked at Ragnar to see what his answer would be. The grin broke free then as he nodded his head towards Lagertha. Sigvard did not see her as Ragnar did, did not see her strength like Earl Haraldson had missed, did not know the fierce and loyal heart beneath her breast that matched Ragnar's own. Sigvard saw her as property, a beast to be cowed and claimed, a slave in all but name. "Where the finest women go, do we not follow? Is Lagertha, your wife, not the finest of women?"
The answer got a few more nods, a few shouts of agreement and praise for the Earl's wife, and a few more men on their feet to join the toast.