My Peasant Hands
His hands have worked the earth and the seas, the fingers stained a permanent shade of brown from the toil of the trawl and the plow. They are hardened and blistered from the ard, but he has grown strong in body and in mind.
In the spring his hands planted and sowed barley and oats, and hay. In the summer they have tended the pigs and the sheep and the cows. They have birthed foals; have held life and they have taken it away accordingly.
He has fished with these hands.
He has farmed with these hands.
He has planted and produced with these hands.
And he has pleasured with these hands…
These are the hands that have touched the purest, softest of skin. They have struck the flesh, and they have seduced it.
These are his hands, calloused and rough. These are the hands of a farmer. A peasant. A warrior. These are not the hands of a king.
With these hands he has built a kingdom bathed in blood. These hands have carved his own path-his destiny-through his choices, and his alone.
He has always desired to make a name for himself. And these hands have chased greatness as a wolf chases its prey. These hands have scratched for it, they have bled for it, they have grasped for it—it is life, this thing called greatness.
He has hungered for it, dreamed of it, lusted after it, and will likely die for it.
Greatness is his passion, his goal, his ambition and his destiny.
He has held fate in these hands.
He has tested the gods with these hands.
He has taunted the living with these hands.
And he has raised the dead with these hands.
Husband, father. Friend, lover, brother…enemy.
He has hurt with these hands.
Has been hurt by these hands.
He has battered with these hands, bruised with these hands.
Broken with these hands…
And betrayed with these hands.
Who told you, you should be great? Who said you should be happy? Who said you should be loved?
It is said that Odin gave his eye for knowledge. But Ragnar is willing to give far more.
And so he sacrifices his daughter with these hands.
And His son with these hands.
And His wife with these hands.
And he would take my own life with these hands.
He will regret with these hands.
And grieve with these hands.
He will grasp with these hands, and beg with these hands…
For what is greatness…but ambition uncontrolled?
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Mad/Lagertha's Lament
There are a lot of things left unsaid.
Like how she saved his life on the battlefield.
How she saved him again, from Jarl Borg.
How she saved his new wife, and his new kids.
Or how she's his top commander—outlining the strategies that have taken them to countless victories.
Or how it was her—not him-that put his vision into action and created the settlement in Wessex.
She could talk about the fact that while he killed the King, he very well would have died if she hadn't killed the king's queen.
Maybe she should remind him that the only reason he has any power in Hedeby is because SHE secured it first.
SHE made him an earl. And SHE made him a King.
She has built his empire…and she can tear it down just the same.
The truth is…
She likes to make him beg for it.
And if they only knew exactly how hard he begs…
Before every battle.
Before every war.
When they're at home, and when they're afar.
And when she rides him, he calls HER name.
This is Power.
It's the power she has to make him jealous.
It's the power she has to make him scream and curse her, and to come back, again and again…
And again.
Power.
They are not divorced.
She could claim what she is owed.
And expose his "wife" as his mistress and those kids as his bastard sons.
She could ruin him.
But she is not petty. She is proud.
Power.
She has the power to reclaim her earldom at any moment. And she has the power to keep it.
She has the power to raise an army, and rain down hell on all of them.
Power.
She has been beaten, and broken.
She has been abused, and used, shattered and stitched.
But she has never, ever been cowed.
His-story wouldn't be written without her. But hers can stand alone.
And he knows it.
Power.
Sometimes she yearns to kill him.
And sometimes she could just die.
Power.
She is fire.
She is Freyja.
She is his wife.
And she is his life.
And she can take it all away...
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May the gods continue to stay her trembling hands, and still her angry heart.
This is Lagertha's prayer.
-END-
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Author's Note: When I write, I'm usually listening to something. These shorts were inspired by the following songs/artists:
Lagertha's songs: Solange's "Mad" from the album "A Seat at the Table"/ Beyonce's "Don't Hurt Yourself"/"Sorry" from the album "Lemonade and Karliene's "Born to be your Queen."
Ragnar's songs: Kendrick Lamar's "DNA" and "Humble" from the album "Damn".