Re: Sigvard's Hall: Lagertha/Ragnar
She had returned to her husband's side, sat next to him as she began to claim food to satisfy herself after a long ride from Kattegat over the last days. Though she could not call it true comfort, there was something appealing about returning home. Even if it was a home where she was never truly 'at home'.
As she sat there, though her attention appeared to be on the man at her side, she was able to watch (in those moments of Sigvard's drunkenness) Ragnar across the room. She saw how he spoke with her husband's men, good men who deserved a better ruler than they had. She didn't know as much about them as she should have, as she would have once upon a time, as she had about the people of Kattegat. The lack of it sometimes shamed her in her own mind when she thought of it in the dark, quiet nights. That Ragnar had so immediately spoken with them, begun a conversation that all seemed pleased with, should not have surprised her at all. And truly, it did not. He was a leader even among another man's men.
When he stood, it gave her the excuse she needed to look directly at him, to find that pale gaze of his and hold it. Her own lips twitched at the placement of her name first, though she knew it would cause trouble with the man at her side. She knew why Ragnar had done it, and she couldn't help the press of her lips that could have become a smile if she hadn't willed it away.
The spread of the toast and lifting of voices surprised her, the way the volume had so quickly increased to nearly cover the slur of angry words from the man at her side (and how easy it was to not think of him as something so nameless in that moment). She kept her expression level until Ragnar grinned at her, fully aware of what he was doing. And the mischief there, mischief that could so easily become chaos, drew out her own smile, a twist of her lips and a warmth in her eyes as she stared at him. She couldn't hide it, even when Sigvard looked at her, and it forced him, wavering, to his feet. Not to join the toast, the agreement, the praise, but to lean himself against the table and glare at Ragnar.
"She... is my wife. My woman. And she... took my warriors, returns without them, goes against my will! And then, like some desperate thing, brings you here." He paused to switch his glare to her, and she looked up at him, trying to judge his anger and how much he'd had to drink. Judging if violence was likely or not. Then she realized - with Ragnar in the hall as well, with the way he had treated her along their journey, what he'd done since their arrival, violence was very likely. Even so, she did not want these people - her people - to be caught in the middle of it. So she simply stood as well, and nodded her head once. "So you say, husband. We should leave the hall to the meal and speak. Just the two-"
The crack of flesh against flesh was loud in the hall, killing the trailing heartiness of the toast. Lagertha's head snapped to the side at the blow, and the warmth that bloomed along her cheekbone caused her to wince. The last time he'd struck her so, it had opened a wound on her skin, and she lifted fingers to feel for bleeding, finding it as a scarlet slick in the patterns of her fingertips. The entire hall fell silent, the people waiting for her response.