Re: Hedeby: Lagertha/Ragnar
Enough talk of her husband. Her late husband. She could picture, in her mind, his body being taken away, held, handled carefully but kept until she decreed what sort of burial he was to have. Even after washing her hands of him (and his blood), it was her final decision that people would look to. But that was not something to rest her thoughts upon in the moment.
No, that honor belonged to thoughts of the man standing in the room with her now. The one she had known so intimately years ago, the one that had traveled with her and escorted her back to her current home even though she was well capable of doing it herself. Her husband (the one that had invaded her space, placed his touch where unwanted, struck her and did his best to make her less that she was) was gone, and now instead she'd regained the husband she'd once known. Not only that, but the man he was before. The one that respected her, watched her with hungry eyes. The one that stepped close enough for her to feel the heat from his body (always so warm), but who asked before touching.
It was too much a temptation, a thing she'd wanted to return to for years. Even through her anger, her desire to strike at him until he regained his sense, she had continued to want. And now, couldn't she take and have? It was offered plainly and painfully, heavy enough to almost be a physical touch itself, warm on her skin. But she had more to think of now than her own wants. Than his. She had people to think of now. Her own people.
So though it was difficult, though she wanted to lean back against him and go about relearning all the familiar parts of him, she didn't. Blood gone from her hands, she turned away from the basin, then quickly regretted her decision. She'd known he was close, but turning brought her gaze around, the realization that they were close enough to warm the air between their bodies, breathing it together. Too close, while her body still sang with battle and blood. She glanced down at his hands, holding there in mid-air, and then allowed herself to look again, to find the details of him that were only visible when this close. She breathed in and held the scent of him in her lungs, eyes on his mouth, thoughts in the past, in a bed that was theirs.
"It is not the time." Her voice was throaty and warm, her breath enough to be felt when she sighed. She knew that she could step forward and take, that they could come back together in moments, without even loosening too many ties or pushing too much of their clothing away. But it was not the time. Not when her position was so fragile, hanging in the balance. She needed strength, not lust. Warrior and leader. There was time enough in the future, if the gods willed it.