Re: Hedeby: Lagertha/Ragnar
She knew from the start that having him meet Sigvard, inviting him into the Hall, would end badly. She could lie (to herself and to others) and say that she hadn't expected it to slip into violence and the death of someone, but to say (or even think) such a thing would be dishonorable. Especially when she knew the truth. She would not, however, be lying if she stated that it was a surprise to find herself at the other end of the killing stroke.
And perhaps it was true that Ragnar did not intend things to end as they had. The desire, the intent, changed nothing of the outcome. She was now Earl, and needed to determine what her new role required from her. It was what consumed her thoughts in the early, shock-filled moments, enough that she was reacting slower, allowing Ragnar to step forward. Forward, into rooms that were now hers alone, rooms of the Earl of Hedeby. Her.
She could have cut off his hand for touching her without explicit permission. The knife was still close enough at hand that she could take it up again, strike deep, take another man with the anger and rage that still sang through her veins even beneath the shock and (though she would admit it to no one) confusion. And panic.
But Ragnar's touch was too familiar, even after years. She'd tolerated it, desired it, accepted it - many times. And she found, in this uncertain moment, that it was familiar enough to be accepted again. After a moment to glare up at him, scarlet sticky fingers curling into fists, the anger slowly began to slip away, out of muscles that then began to tremble from holding herself so tightly. "I know you did. I've known it since well before we arrived." She paused, shaking her head. "And still I let you come here." She blinked, her gaze steady on his though she still attempted to find her footing, to place herself equal to him once again. "Though I perhaps did not expect it to end this way."