storradr | for Citra >:3

Citra scowled as the boat settled, thinking on her options as she and the others captured. She had never expected it, but she'd caught bits of the way they had looked at her and the yelling when one of the guards slapped her for backtalk.

Too pretty to kill.

It was too useful a bit of information to be severely offensive - men were largely base and only had so much forethought. But that left what to do once docked.

She was Rakyat, she would find a way.

The restlessness and exotic look of the slaves seemed to draw more than a few stares. A few of the young men even stepped up to curiously inspect the captives being brought up from the docks and into the marketplace. Aside from the way they decorated themselves, these people were not so different from the population they'd found themselves in. Both men and women in Kattegat were tattooed, wore kohl eyeliner, and used animal fur and feathers to decorate their clothing.

One Viking woman stepped up and started conversing with one of Citra's captors, motioning a few times at her as she apparently made a deal. What Citra wouldn't be able to understand was that the woman wasn't interested in purchasing her, she wanted the necklace she wore and had just agreed to pay a good sum of money for. This meant the pirate had to get it off of Citra though.

He waved over one of his fellow crewmen and stepped closer, ready to hold her down.

The reactions to the environment were varied. Most of the Rakyat present had very little affection for the weather, or being poked at - however all of them seemed to defer to Citra who looked...rather bored, actually. The mastery of expression did well to disguise her annoyance and what she rapidly gathered was bartering. She hated being gestured at and hated that this was happening, but a woman would likely be more amenable to her ideas.

It was about when the leader called one of his men over, that Citra realized she miscalculated. His eyes flicked to her chest, not in lust but appraisal.

The Rakyat had little need for raiments or ceremony, but Citra was attached to the large shark's tooth all the same. Before she had taken her proper place, the men of the island doubted her - they saw her beauty and thought her weak. When it came time for those who bit for leader ship, the cowards stayed on land. Citra went to the waters that held her beloved Rook Island and she slayed the biggest shark she set eyes on. They'd taken the tooth as proof and Citra wore it proudly, a reminder of why she was the Living Goddess of the Rakyat.

And these outsiders thought it was some fucking bauble?!

Citra glared and twisted far too easily out of the first attempt to take her trophy, the mark of her right to rule the Rakyat. The tension that seemed to flood her, rippled through her brothers and sisters so disgraced in the marketplace.

She warned them, though she knew they could not hear her - that she was at the edge of the indignity she would allow these people to inflict on her and her people, that if they did not want more blood they would not assail her pride further.

But Citra knew they did not understand and when they tried to grab her, she sunk boneless into his grip. It moved her to too far and when he tried to recover from the stumble, she braced and swung her head upward into his chin. A bitten tongue or worse, no one who pressed her now would come out of the interaction unscathed.

Ragnar's gaze had moved further out across the calm waters, watching the birds on the horizon. He could tell that the pirates were here strictly for business, his presence was unneeded. Still, it beat being back in the house with his wife.

The commotion was unexpected, to say the least, and immediately piqued his curiosity. He stood up, hand on his axe, and pushed through the gathered crowd. The pirates were quickly losing control of the situation.

Ragnar motioned to a few of his own men, who subdued everyone save for Citra. The man who had gone to restrain her had received a headbutt and a knee to the groin, something that should not have amused Ragnar as much as it did.

Without hesitation, Ragnar stepped forward and kicked the back of her legs and grabbed one of her arms, twisting it behind her back to limit her movement. Once she was restrained, he traded off, letting one of the pirates step in to put chains on her.

Ragnar stepped around and grabbed her roughly by the chin, icy blue eyes locking with her's.

"Þessi er leiðtogi þeirra? Taktu aðra aftur í skipið. Við viljum ekki vandræði sem þeir koma með hér," He was apparently speaking mostly to the pirates, who seemed hesitant. With a glare Ragnar added, "Núna. Eða við kaupum ekkert."

The pirates, seemingly acting under his orders, reluctantly shuffled the rest of Citra's people back onto their boat. He then turned to the man in charge of the pirate vessel, the two of them going back and forth, the pirate captain motioning at the necklace, which had, at some point made it nearly off of Citra's head, so it was now hooked on one of her ears.

"Hún heldur hálsmen. Og ég mun taka hana af höndum þínum," Ragnar spoke to the captain, intense gaze never leaving Citra. Again, without any hint of hesitation or fear, he reached towards her, this time to carefully unhook the necklace from her ear in order to place it properly back around her neck.

The captain seemed outraged, but whatever he was saying didn't seem to fluster Ragnar in the least bit, who stood back up and said a few quietly spoke things to the man, which apparently shut him up immediately. Ragnar moved back to Citra, helping her to her feet, since her hands were still tied behind her back.

"Come," The word was fairly intuitive when paired with him motioning for her to follow him.

Citra would never forgive herself for being caught by such cowards, by men so incapable that the rest of their kinsman had begun to talk at their failure. In times of trouble, leaders tend to make themselves known and while she was not shocked that he'd appeared, the way he made himself known had been somewhat surprising.

She'd cried out when he kicked her, her attempt to twist away thwarted by the twist of her arm. And then she was traded to one of his subordinates - as if she were not worth his attention.

He spoke to her, eyes blue and clear and Citra found herself glaring into to them with as much hate as she could muster.

"Aku akan membunuh semua orang yang bertanggung jawab untuk melakukan ini terhadap bangsaku." She did not struggle against the grip of his hand, not even to watch them put her people back on the boat. If this was the last thing the saw of her, they would see her swear bloody vengeance on these men.

She also, after him barking orders to his men, did not expect him to fix her necklace. It was strange.

But even with a lack of immediate cruelty, Citra did not trust these men. She did not trust this leader and she certainly did not trust what those men were going to do with her kin.

Even without understanding the word, Citra knew it was a command. And after a moments consideration, she canted her head back at the boat.

"Ke mana mereka pergi dengan bangsaku?"

He paused, following the direction she'd nodded in, and gazed toward the ship where the rest of her people were.

"You," He pointed at her, another fairly easy word to decipher, and then pointed further up the path and gave her what could have been another command, or maybe it was the name of where they were going, "Fara."

'Bangsaku'. She'd said it twice now. He glanced back over at the boat and pointed over at it.

"Bangsaku?" His accent muddied the word a little. Hopefully, that was a word that was referring to her men and didn't mean something utterly ridiculous for the situation. He then motioned out with a broad wave of his hand, far away, into the ocean, out of their little harbor, "Fara."

It was obvious, she was coming with him, her people were leaving. To where, he had no idea, nor did he particularly care. Likely keeping her was a mistake.

She scowled at his pointing at her, a stone in her stomach at the way he pointed up the path. 'Fara'....walk, go? It was a lot of dread to suddenly need an outlet for and between her nerves and the cold, she found herself getting goosebumps.

Still, she hadn't expected him to be listening her enough to start picking out words.

"You." She begins, nodding at him. "Pencuri."

She pulls at the restraints, too light to be a real attempt at struggle, before nodding her head at the ship. Then she stands straight, the 'fuck you' tilt to her chin that she'd had when she strolled off the ship in full effect. 'Fara' again.

Away. They were taking the rest of the Rakyat away.

"Jangan lakukan ini." she began, with a low, desperate tone. "Biarkan aku pulang."

Slowly, she began to back towards the little dock and she shook her head at the idea of it. The Rakyat without her would be lost. They would languish in the search for a successor that would take time they did not have. Vaas had been Rakyat too, once. He would destroy them.

"Bangsaku membutuhkan saya.Kamu sialan kita semua. Kirimkan aku dengan mereka!"

He could see it in her eyes as the realization sunk in. Raising an eyebrow, he 'listened' to her pleas with an unaffected and slightly annoyed expression.

"Ekki," He warned her sternly as she started backing away, a word she'd probably be able to safely translate as 'don't'. Don't be ridiculous, and don't you dare disobey him and walk back to that ship.

"Mér er sama um þinn 'bangsaku'," He strode up to her, grabbing the chains binding her wrists and gave her a small shove to get her moving, back in the right direction this time, and her disobedience got her a light smack to the side of the head like one might give to scold a child. He held onto her, pushing her along, further away from the docks and further into the bustling city.

They walked up to what looked like the center of the small town, a circular clearing amongst the packed buildings. One large building was likely the main mead hall and also, technically, where Ragnar lived, with his wife. He didn't slow at all as they walked past it. The buildings thinned out and then only dotted the road here and there. To the left of the road were fields and beyond them great mountains and to the right was the curving shoreline of the fjord. All in all, it was about a two minute walk before they reached a large cabin on the water front. The place was officially a 'hunting lodge', but it was no secret that Ragnar often stayed there instead of with his wife at the main halls.

"You," He pointed at her.

"Me, 'pencuri'," He pointed to himself and used her word, knowing full well it was likely something derogatory.

"Home," He pointed to the cabin.

"Yes?"

Citra ignored the low warning tone, but this man was familiar with this process. Clearly, judging from the way he grabbed her before she could bolt. The warning swat was further insult and the shove forced her to swallow her temper, letting a slow breath out of her nose.

"Hanya seorang pengecut yang mendorong lawan yang terikat." she grumbled, slowing deliberately a few times.

Her pausing was as much curiosity as it was insolence. She walked with her own purpose, head up despite her obvious position here. The town was so different from her home on Rook Island and the people, but their activities were not so different.

They would grieve deeply for this man, after she killed him.

As they left the thick of the town, Citra arched a brow. It is either a very great or a very poor leader that isolated themselves and the welfare of his people had hinted at the former.

That drew an irritated glance back toward the town, before she turned her attention to the thief. Shivering once more as he gestured to her, then to himself -drawing a wry smirk at his admission of thievery, however ignorant it was- and then to the cabin.

Her gaze, green and sharp, flicked from this man to the cabin and back. It was too cold here to avoid being in any enclosed space with him, but liked being bound even less.

Nodding, more to herself than anyone, she turned to face the chains to him and waved them slightly.

"Lepaskan aku."

He didn't exactly rush her through town, slowing when she seemed to pause to look at something. This was her new home, after all, she should get to know it. He completely ignored most of her gibberish, none of it seemed as though she was asking for names of anything.

Her aggression and wildness was exactly why he'd brought her to his hunting lodge and not the main halls. Until he could trust her, there was no way he'd put his children in danger.

It was easy enough to understand she wanted to be unchained, but he shook his head and waved towards the cabin.

"Go," That same word again. He didn't wait this time, walking past her and into the cabin, busying himself with propping the wooden shades open to let light into the place. If she hadn't followed him in after he'd done that, he'd move to get a fire going. If she did decide to join him, he'd remove those chains first.

She scowled again at the order, leveling a nasty glare at his back as he made his way into the cabin. He'd busied himself with making the place comfortable and Citra took the time to let the wheels in her head turn fully. She reached to grab a fistful of snow as she glowered, letting it melt in between her fingers. Repeating the act with another healthy handful of snow, she began to approach.

He'd peered out to check on her condition, which was mostly the same aside from the fact she was a little closer to the dwelling: pissed, distrustful and shivering. The placement of the cuffs meant that he could not see the careful way she pressed her hands together - pushing at the joint at the base of her thumb.

After a few moments of subjecting herself to freezing hands, Citra began to take slow breaths. Ignoring the heaviness of the cold air, she focused. Mentally she counted - one breath, two breaths and then there was a pop and for a moment she had to breathe. Quick and shallow, through her nose, or else she would scream and she couldn't. Not here.

It took another big steadying breath before she finally entered the house, eyes shining with unshed tears from the pain.

"Pencuri."

Edited 2018-01-15 05:55 (UTC)

Ragnar was nothing if not patient. Patient and stubborn. When together, they were arguably one of his more annoying qualities. He had no qualms with contently sitting in his cabin and waiting for her to enter by choice while watching her slowly freeze to death from her own stubbornness.

When she finally did step inside, the fire was already making a significant difference. The interior was wooden furniture, handwoven blankets and furs. Decoration was sparse since this wasn't technically anyone's home, but there were one or two antlers on the walls.

He smirked at the nickname again as he got to his feet and went over to gently remove her chains.

"Ragnar," He offered pointing to himself, though he was also amused by the nickname and wouldn't mind in the least bit if that's what she continued to call him. He pointed at her and raised an eyebrow, wondering what to call her.

Without waiting for an answer, he waved her over one of the beds in the room where there was a tunic, loose pants, knit socks, and a big fluffy fur cloak set out if she wanted any of them. Again, he didn't really seem to care if she took them or not, going back over to his chair and taking a seat, watching her with keen curiosity.

She tensed at his movement closer, the smirk failing to inspire confidence. Turning her hand in the cuff, she paused expecting to be shoved to the floor or the wall. Her wary glance at him became confused when he released her. The shock was such that she didn't bother to hide the developing bruise at the base of her thumb and she gawked as she spun to face him. This man was mad, arrogant or both to trust her to be unbound so quickly.

His introduction was met with a quiet scoff and a faint roll of her eyes, more annoyance than proper mockery.

"Ragnar si Pencuri." her accent seemed to shorten the "A's" in his name, slightly.

She watched him indicate the clothing on the bed before he took a seat.

His eyes...she could practically feel his gaze on her as she peered over at the clothing left for her. With a sigh, she began to loosen her top pausing to to eye him down once more.

"Citra." She finally responded, gesturing to herself.

She waited a moment to continue disrobing, before quirking an eyebrow and frowning again. Unbinding her was reasonable, but modesty was not allowed?

"Tutup matamu, Pencuri. " she ordered, taking one hand and covering her eyes so he would hopefully take her meaning.

Edited 2018-01-16 03:13 (UTC)

He'd noticed the bruise, but hadn't initially thought too much about it. The woman may have been in and out of chains throughout the boat ride or the injury could have happened in the scuffle.

"Yes," He nodded, even if her pronunciation was slightly off, it was close enough.

A soft smile tugged at his lips when she gave, what he assumed was, her name in return.

"Citra," The 'r' was said lightly, with a flick of the tongue and the 'a' probably held too long, but now he had a name at least.

The look of indignation he got made him crack a wider smile, obviously amused at the request. Even so, he stood up, giving her a smirking pointed look and started to stroll towards the door of the cabin. He paused by a bucket, dipping his hand into it to cup some water to his mouth to test it. He honestly had no idea how long it'd been there... maybe a few days, maybe only one, but it still tasted fine.

"Water," He motioned to it and glanced around, spotting a cloth that looked mostly clean. He picked it up to show her and dropped it in the bucket before heading outside to wait until she was done.

With a grimace and a muffled grunt, Citra popped her thumb back into place. She met his pronunciation of her name with a 'good enough' look of her own as she wiggled her thumb. All things considered, this was now how she envisioned being separated from her people.

Freezing again as he stalked past her, she arched an eyebrow at his cocky expression.

He explained, gesturing to the bucket of water that was not yet stagnant and she repeated him quietly. She didn't like his tongue - it was too hard in spots. It felt lifeless and she would have to learn it. Her cleansing was almost mercenary, only the things that were necessary and even that too long. She stifled her tears and swallowed her anger - there would be time for it, but no time soon. Patience rewards the wise.

"Pencuri."

She'd put on everything he'd laid out, the leather top under the slightly large tunic, pants drawn tight to sit correctly at her waist. Her necklaces clicked slightly as she drew the fur about her shoulders.

Ragnar turned at his nickname, eyebrows raising in surprise like he somehow hadn't expected what he now saw. He gave her a once-over, not bothering to fight the lopsided smile.

"You. Citra," He pointed at her, "Lítur út," He wasn't sure how to sign that one, motioning in a circle around his face, "Viking."

He tried to figure out how to make it clearer and pointed at himself, "Pencuri. Ragnar. Viking. Ég er Viking," He pointed vaguely outside, "Þau eru Viking. You, Citra, look like a Viking."

"Það hentar þér," He said with a fond smile, not bothering to attempt to translate that. Even her hair was similar to something a shield maiden might decide to go with.

"Um... Hungry?" He asked, pointing at his mouth and then rubbing his stomach.

This was a foolish thing and they both were fools for losing their wariness of the other so quickly, but Citra found herself smiling at the raise of his brow. It was a shame that had such little honor - he struck her as fearless, someone who could look death in the eye. For a moment, she wondered if this is how people saw her on Rook Island.

"Suka itu?" She asked, the coy tone of her voice unmistakable despite the language barrier. Opening her arms enough to look at herself and failing to stifle the amusement in her voice, she peered at the clothing. Strange but warm.

Citra even laughed, a flash of teeth as she turned her attention properly to Ragnar. Even under all the cloth, her movement was easy as she moved closer and the sway of her hips was noticeable. More foolishly, she eyed him back - unflinching and unmoved by the weight of his gaze. She was perhaps a step too close as she met him with her own lopsided smile and an almost cat-like lowering of lashes. This close what might have been thought to be a smear of paint or dirt was revealed to be a tattoo, lightly faded from time.

She nodded at his explanation, eyes flicking towards where he'd gestured. Ragnar and his people called themselves 'viking'. Repeating the word, her accent stretching the vowels to vai-keeng, she perked up at the sound of her name. He said it better every time it left his lips, she found it as cold as the air around her.

His fond and far too friendly tone - stop, doing that Thief - was met with a shake of her head and smirk. Damn everything, his mood seemed to creep into the space between them. Surely, it was the knowledge of a lonely life otherwise that sweetened her to him. His smiling, his eyes, his assumption...

"Vaiking," she said - a little clearer, as she let the cloak settle enough to gesture to where he had. She ignored his question for the moment, too uncomfortable with how easily he ascribed his people's name to her to consider it.

"You. Anda adalah Viking," she continued, smirking as she poked at him lightly as she emphasized the name of his people.

"Saya selalu..." she began, taking the finger she'd poked at him with and tapping the tattoo on her chin.

She met his eye and held it, trailing her finger down her chin and down her throat, in the 'v' of the tunic and over the leather and necklaces that she'd refused to abandon, until she reached the edge of the shark's tooth and her heart underneath it.

"Saya selalu Rakyat.". Her voice steeled at the name of her own people, as she tapped at her heart.

Edited 2018-02-01 06:03 (UTC)

Ragnar would disagree. He saw no reason he should fear her. Not only was he confident in his own abilities, but he'd already seen that she was clever, clever enough to realize that killing him would only bring about her death unless she had some kind of concrete plan, which would take time and, most likely, allies. On top of all of this, Ragnar simply didn't believe that the gods would fate him to be killed by a random slave.

The next few weeks passed like that. He'd try to teach her things and gave her simple tasks, often times grumbling almost teasingly about how terrible of a worker she was. She lived both at the cabin and in a smaller stable type building separate but directly beside the main hall where all the servants seemed to sleep. Ragnar left it up to her to decide which she preferred.

All the while, there was a lot to learn from what she was allowed to see. It was obvious to anyone with two eyes and half a brain that Ragnar and his wife, Aslaug, practically despised one another. The queen was almost never seen without either a cup of wine or her youngest son, who was five, in her arms. It was obvious that Ragnar adored his children, four boys from the oldest at twelve to the youngest at five. He was constantly playing with them when not busy with other things, though Aslaug seemed to almost covet their youngest, who Citra would quickly realize had some kind of health problem, though it wasn't clear what. He was almost always in his mother's arms or a small wagon instead of running around like the older boys.

After a particularly loud argument, at least on Aslaug's end, Ragnar had shown up at the cabin. That Citra might be there obviously wasn't at the forefront of his mind as he went directly to one of the chests and rummaged through it, pulling out a bow, a quiver and arrows.

The first Raykat killed a giant, cut his head clean off. From the spilled blood came the rest of the warriors of the island and the flesh of the giant became the land that the Rakyat protected.

One does not slay giants with impatience.

And Ragnar was proving himself more gargantuan by the day.

The organization of these people was actually impressive. The community here, blatant as she served them made her homesick and she used the grief to keep the heat of her rage. Most people here were like people back home: some worth knowing and most were not. Here, however, she was expected to submit to the will of her supposed betters. Her reputation was not great - she visibly and frequently chafed at being ordered, hissing obscenities in her native tongue when the limits of her patience had been reached.

Adapting to a life without reverence was only difficult in Citra's bearing. Her insolence was only really tolerated because she was purchased by Ragnar and because it seemed to amuse him to aggrieve her. In equal parts she integrated well with others held under the vikings control and sequestered herself away to the cabin she'd first been taken. She was extraordinarily contrary that way - barely working when ordered but doing so to exhaustion to keep others from punishment or lagging behind. In a similar vein, her responsibility to the Rakyat gave her a keen eye for logistics and morale, only bothering to speaking to Ragnar privately when they would pass paths at the cabin and she noticed something that would ease the burden on the resources in the area or similarly useful.

If just about anyone could see that Aslaug and Ragnar had little love, then a blind man could register Citra's opinion of the queen. She often wordlessly cut her eyes at the cups in the woman's hands, less so at her son. Citra also did not help things, her attentiveness to Ragnar's needs somehow always coinciding with whether or not Aslaug was around to see. And with a surprising lack of insolence, imagine that.

In addition to passive-aggressively antagonizing the queen, Citra also guarded herself and her time jealously, often sneaking back to the cabin after appearing to work for most of the early morning. Today was such a morning, as Aslaug and Ragnar seemed to need time to address certain issues, so she'd taken the opportunity to slip away and attend to her own situations.

In the solitude of the cabin, she'd begun to pray after taking a few drops of a tincture from one of the others captive. It was a remedy for pain, but she found that it opened the mind more than he'd managed to warn her and found it would do well enough to draw knowledge from the First Rakyat and blood of the giant he slayed.

She'd prayed for most of the late morning considering this man, King Ragnar the Thief. He was either blessed by their gods or the child of one, pulled to glory by his divinity - able to kill men and mete out the righteous fury of the heavens. It didn't matter if he had killed an opposing king with a headbutt or that he killed a bear so monstrous it could only have been born of fear and nightmares. It did not matter that he made an example of an invading man - what mattered was that this was the way that people spoke of him.

He was a man with a reputation. Ragnar the Giant.

Citra froze when she heard the door to the cabin, hiding her knife and it's sheath in her clothing before standing to see what Ragnar was doing. It was not exactly uncommon to see him, but this early meant nothing good. Not with the queen, anyway, which meant the Ragnar was looking to blow off steam.

"You need a second for your hunt?" she inclined her head at the weapons, eyeing him to get further read of his mood - if his anger honed his focus or shattered it.

Everything Citra had observed, everything she'd assumed, it was all right. In his lifetime, Ragnar had taken huge chances and done what many had previously considered the impossible, but he'd paid for it. His first wife, the love of his life, had left him. His closest friend had been murdered and many more had fallen in battle. His own brother had betrayed him.

Worse than all that, because of the way their society worked, killing the men in power that had come after him had meant he'd had to assume their positions. He'd never had any ambitions to lead and it was obviously starting to wear on him. As Citra had likely seen, the only time he seemed truly happy was around his boys. His sons meant the world to him.

His second escape was this little hunting lodge. At least when he wasn't on raids.

He paused, obviously considering her offer carefully, before tossing the bow at her and grabbing a second one for himself.

"You know how to shoot? And how to hunt?" His anger, as always, was as icy and cold as his eyes. He had to dig a little deeper to find a second quiver, but handed it to her before strapping his own on.

A King's head was heavy, but Citra knew the burden of command intimately. His sons were his joy, but both because of her forced servitude and her duty to the Rakyat as their goddess she lacked any sympathy in how little he could enjoy their presence. However, the shine of anger in his eyes, the coldness despite being bright enough to remind her of the water of her home - she had to stifle her shudder and the sudden flare of curiosity.

She caught the bow easily and did her best disguise her eyeroll at his question, watching as he dug for more supplies.

"All Rakyat learn war and hunting."

It was a very Citra answer, and rarely gave more information than absolutely necessary. Like the fact that she left off that she would have to be one of the best in her land, considering she was effectively the Rakyat's queen.

"Our prey?" she asked, fastening her quiver at her hips.

Edited 2018-02-11 06:39 (UTC)

"Good. It is the same for all Viking," He smirked, though it was still humorless, the fight still too fresh for him to move on quite yet. As with most things he didn't particularly like, he simply did his best to pretend everything was fine.

"Deer probably. Perhaps boar," He said with a shrug. It really depended on what kind of tracks they came across first.

He slung his bow over his shoulder and headed unceremoniously out of the lodge, moving further away from Kattegat and, first, into some tall undergrowth and then into forested rocky outcroppings. As they moved deeper into the wooded area, he kept his eyes open for any signs of animal activity, moving silently.

Citra smiled back faintly, nodding at his assessment of their options for game. As he left, she followed and contemplated how comfortable he must have been to leave his back to her while she was armed. She had worked hard to play the part of servant, flares of insolence aside, and as they moved past the borders of the little town, she wondered if this was ample opportunity to strike.

So cocky, King Ragnar. So confident.

In silence they moved and Citra kept an eye on his back, trying to figure out how best she could fire an arrow to take him down quickly.

He was too focused on prey, too focused on his anger ... it would be easy, if she could just keep to the ruse a little longer...

Ragnar was guilty as charged. He'd always presented himself as confident and it often times shifted to cocky, especially when he wasn't actually feeling particularly confident. Again, he was well aware that Citra had the potential to be dangerous, but so were most of the people in Kattegat. There was a very real danger that they could come across a bear and be killed. Every time he went on a raid he was likely to die, both from enemy soldiers and from something as mundane as a sea storm.

As always, if the gods intended him to die today, then he would die. There was no way around that. The Seer who interpreted the will of the gods seemed to imply that they had other plans.

He pointed at a few spots on the surrounding trees where a deer, a buck, had very obviously rubbed his antlers and scraped and gouged off bark.

She kept her breathing and steps silent, watching as Ragnar stalked forward. It was a waste and a shame, he moved like a proper hunter. Here he would be nothing but pig-headed competition but on Rook Island he could have been something so much greater. Stepping with his rhythm, it was nothing to nock the arrow silently and still herself. A shot to the back would do, painful for her suffered indignities but no suffering that was not already due such an arrogant man.

Unfortunately, the gods had other plans.

Ragnar turned as he pointed to the evidence of the buck and the arrow Citra let loose struck his chest at an odd angle. Ragnar - King of these Vikings and Thief possessed of such luck it infuriated Citra. The wound would be easily overcome and she knew in her soul as their eyes met, that she would either have to kill him or that soft-hearted woman of his as she jumped back and went to fire another arrow.

The arrow strikes and buries in just below his collarbone with a dull thunk, shooting pain up his neck. He grunted in surprise, stumbling back a half step with a snarl, his hand going to the arrow.

He looked up, seeing her reaching for a second arrow. Wasting no time, he immediately threw the first thing within reach at her, which happened to be his bow. It wouldn't do any damage, but it was aimed at her face and instinct should be to at least knock it aside. It would buy him half a second. And in that half a second, he was on her, tackling her hard to the ground, knocking her bow aside, and reaching for her neck with one hand, yanking the arrow buried in his chest out with the other.

He said nothing, all of his focus on pinning her down and choking her.

When the bow came flying at her, Citra knew that she had precious few seconds before Ragnar's reprisal came. She braced for what was coming after the improvised response and was somewhat shocked to find Ragnar upon her so quickly. She felt her equilibrium shift and tried to adapt to his brutish attack. The scuffle was an inelegant thing, her keeping just enough distance to keep Rangar's hands from getting too good a grip on her.

She writhed and twisted under him, forcing her forearm across his throat to keep him from pressing down. For the first time since her arrival, she began to understand why Ragnar's people spoke of him the way they did. He was beautiful in his fury and Citra could help but grin and laugh breathlessly.

"You took me from my people..." She hissed, her own gaze hot and unflinching. "You make me serve a soft-bellied lamb. She has nothing hard in her and you are weak to let her move you."

Edited 2018-02-25 06:44 (UTC)

Ragnar grit his teeth as he struggled to pin her as she twisted and fought back. With the arrow pulled out, he threw it aside into the woods when he easily could have tried to use it against her. That alone should have clued her in that he either wasn't trying to kill her or was intending, for some reason, to choke her to death.

"They would have killed you. No slave is worth that kind of trouble," He growled at her. It was the truth. The slavers had been ready to take her back down to the docks to slit her throat and they would've been in the right to do so.

He shoved at her arm before grabbing her wrist to slam it down against the ground, pinning her hand. But a hand on her wrist, it meant that was one less hand to go to her throat.

"She is the mother of my sons," He snarled, grabbing her other wrist to pin it down as well, meaning he was bent over her, faces inches apart, "That is enough. That is all I need from her."

His eyes flickered down to her lips briefly, before moving back up to meet her eyes.

"Why should I not kill you? Right here?"

"They would have killed all of us. My Rakyat would riot at the sight of my blood."

They both knew that he was right - she'd killed captives on Rook Island for less and had fully expected to face death rather than dishonor. However, Ragnar's curiosity drew her own. Her mind goes back to the ominous wave of tension in the Raykat on the day she'd been taken. No one besides Ragnar had noticed and in the end he had spared those pirates and plenty of his own people bloodshed.

Even now, when logic and pride said to kill her, he waited. The offense on behalf of his soft queen drew another laugh. "And you would let a lamb teach them to be warriors?"

The flick of his eyes to her lips does not escape Citra's notice and she licks her lips even as he meets her gaze again. Even now the proud tilt to her chin is present, but now it's too easy to feel the speed of her pulse and the way her breath draws heavy. This thief, King Ragnar - he is strong and fast and clever, just like the way his people speak of him and Citra does not fight the way her blood runs hot for him - warrior to warrior.

"You would do worse if someone tore you from your Viking." she explains far too casually.

Fearless, the corner of her mouth quirking up, she leans up into the hand on her throat and speaks, mouth far too close to his.

"I am better and you know it."

"No. I am doing that," He growled. Ragnar, in reality, expected very little from Aslaug. She really only had one job to do, which was to be the boys' mother, a task she only seemed to manage because of the retainers she kept to help her. Ragnar knew she was practically useless but she was the mother of his sons and, at the end of the day, that meant a great deal to him.

He scoffs at her bold claim, mirroring her smirk.

"And what? Do you wish to kill me or do you wish to marry me?" He asked incredulously, rolling his eyes. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to say after she'd just shot him, "Not that my wives have not wanted both on many occasions."

Ragnar's previous wife had likely only been mentioned once or twice if at all, though it was no big secret that she was a fierce and proud warrior like Ragnar, a woman who had only borne him one son before she'd left him, divorced him because the current queen, Aslaug, had shown up nearly at full term to present Ragnar his soon to be born son. Lagertha, who was rumored to have had at least one miscarriage, unsurprisingly felt more than a little slighted by Ragnar's suggestion that they share their bed with another woman.

Citra laughed, quite literally in his face, at the idea of marriage. Her duty was to stay strong and breed true and while she could manage with Ragnar’s prowess and strength, her pride would never let her know peace. He was the reason that she suffered so now, in worry for her people and in her frustration. She missed the heat of Rook island and her people, the challenge of men who thought themselves strong enough to give her the perfect warrior.

“Both.” She answers his derisive question - absolutely deadpan. “But Rakyat rarely marry and I cannot.”

She arches an eyebrow at mention of his wives, knowing of his lamb. Her gaze rolls over him and she tries to break his hold before stilling again.

“I wish you were Rakyat, sometimes. I could give you everything.”

Her answer earns her an almost breathless scoff, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he did.

"Ah. Well. That is good then. Because I was not offering," His smirk dissipated as he grit his teeth and had to focus as she struggled, fighting to keep her dominant hand pinned while very obviously letting her other hand slip loose of his hold. She'd notice. Of course, she would. But he was curious to see what she would do.

"What difference does it make? Rakyat? Viking? You are here now," He said bluntly. Once again, his eyes raked over her, darkening as they did. Shifting his weight, he pressed his hips down subtle, but suggestive, "Everything? Like what?"

His rational side was screaming at him. This was a terrible idea. The woman had justs shot him and was obviously trying to kill him. Was he really about to be tempted by sex when she could easily have a blade hidden on her? The not so rational side of him really didn't give a shit. In fact, the potential for danger was a little exciting.

Her expression says how much she believes that. Whether it was genuine or not, his question is not one of disinterest and when he grimaced, she can’t help but smile again. He’d let he go enough to let her try something, he was curious enough to risk pain to see what she was to do. The sudden freedom of her hand doesn’t go unnoticed, but does wait to make her move.

He did ask a question, after all.

“Do you stop being Viking when you leave this place?”

It’s her standard non-answer. But then Ragnar presses his hips to tease her, and her patience evaporates - she strikes.

Twisting enough to get leverage, she rolls them - moving to straddle Ragnar as he falls to his back. One does not become the living goddess of the Rakyat by simply being clever or good at war. No, Citra leads her people because she knows when a fight is worth dying for and when it is worth it to make a point. She is their goddess because where one would see madness, she sees opportunity.

The hold on his throat keeps her arm nearly straight with tension, too high for harmless rough play but not hard enough to be a proper threat. Citra smiles, with a sigh that nearly purrs - low and pleased as she rolls her hips over his.

“I could give you a better night than your lamb could, to start.”

"I meant why should it matter to you if I am Viking or Rakyat. What difference does such a thing make?" In his mind, none at all.

Far from angry at her, or himself, when she takes full advantage of the bit of freedom he'd given her, she'll probably hear his chuckle before catching his throat in her hand. Even if she hadn't, it was impossible to miss his impish smirk.

"I have no doubt in that," He managed to force out, still smirking, "Unless you also plan to make me sleep on the bench while you take the bed."

He could easily fight back at this point. Neither of his hands were pinned in the least bit. Instead, he slid them up her thighs to rest on her hips.

“You are a Thief and my captor. I am as thirsty for your blood as I am your body and I...”

Her lilting voice trails and for a moment Citra meets his eyes, green to blue - earth to sea. This place would never be a home, would never bring her kindness. For a child of the great Ragnar, even a bastard one...things could be different. It would be worth the slight to his lamb of a queen and Citra knew from watching that he would not be able to deny the product of their union for very long. At ‘papa’ he would lose his mind and any harm to that child would be met with fury and he would reflexively defend her, as the mother of his child.

She cocks her head, lashes so low her eyes look like slits. As his hands skim up her thighs, she digs her nails into the skin of his throat and rolls her hips again. Slower. Hard enough to feel him growing eager.

“I really should kill you...” she says, distracted by the shine of his eyes and the way he feels under her. “It would be easier...”

Her duty to the Rakyat was to bear a Warrior, someone to lead them when she was too old too do so. It was an unpalatable truth, but Ragnar was her best chance at that now that things had changed. The world unfolded in a moment in her mind; she protects her child and Ragnar protects them both from the worst of what these Vikings and their land have to offer. It would cost her soul, maybe but one day, she could go home and the Rakyat would have their warrior.

She leans down and kisses him, hot and wanting. A means to an end, she repeats in her mind - ignoring the ebb and flow of her affection and hatred for this man. She is lonely without her people but she fears she would have liked him anyway, if he’d been the stranger in her territory or if they had simply met. The hand at his throat relaxes a little but the rock of her hips takes rhythm before she manages to control herself.

“The cabin.” She begins, voice and hot from lust as she starts to pull away. “ I will not do this here.”

for Citra >:3

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