She is the god's fae, condemned to look upon the Viking King Ragnar in silence and watch him as he killed, loved and lost and fall in deep love with him in the process.
Then one day on the cold hill's side, Ragnar battle worn and asking for death t...
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"I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried-"La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!""
There are different types of dreams. There are nightmares and good dreams. Realistic dreams and fantasy dreams. Ragnar Lothbrok was fully aware that the sight in front of his eyes was a nightmare.
He experienced a sense of being without his body, weightlessness as he he left the heat and the cold behind in the mortal world and lost all feeling in his skin.
Instead he relied on his other senses, the smell of burning willow and twigs along with the crackle of a distant bonfire he couldn't quite see. Spitting and cracking.
The light of the sunset was lovely longer here to comfort him and neither was a women. He didn't know if he craved his senses to be invigorated by his mystery women or the familiar touch of Lagertha or even Asluag, simple Asluag in all her beauty.
"Where am I?" He called to the sky, to the Gods and the heavens, "Tell me where I am!" He turned around on the spot, going in circles and circles as he stared at the familiar stars above. But this time there were no stars.
"Why do you trick me like this Gods! Why do you bring a beautiful lady into my life to then take me away from her! Why must I always be the end of your jokes, I am the one that lost Athelstan, I am the one that loses everyone!" The calm that La Belle Dame had granted him was gone as his blood began to boil and he was angry and he didn't let it go silently as before, this time his anger was loud.
Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw the fire erupt, the flames danced up into the skies and little sparks and ashes were carried upwards by the wind illuminated the surrounding area. The sound followed, like the lull between thunder and lightning. It was a ripping sound, something not explainable of the mortal world. Ragnar froze. It was the sound that followed however that petrified him; shouts of men, of angry men.
Ragnar stood and stared at them for too long, watching the congregation worship the fire. They seemed oblivious to his presence but we would approach them. He just had to think about what to say.
'Bow down before your King' came into his mind as he made the first steps but he didn't feel like one without a crown on his brow. He had given his away as soon as he stepped into the forest and his title had been crushed the minute he kissed La Belle Dame.
'Tell me where I am' was another that never made it to his lips.
As soon as he contemplated it the answer was made clear in his mind, he was stuck living in his biggest failure. The Viking settlement in England. The sky was overcast, a world away from before and there was frost in the air that he couldn't feel but saw in the blades of grass at his feet as he slowly walked towards the crowd.
