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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"She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore, Ad there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four."
His.
The thought scared him. The great Viking King was scared of the prospect of another young women belonging to him. He has known the compassion of love and the ecstasy of a lover but both times the last feeling he was left with was bitterness. He had loved and lost and Ragnar did not wish to do it again, especially not to this young lady, especially not to a women who had never loved before.
Yet it felt to Ragnar that she knew love, that she knew what it was like to share the lifeblood of someone else. He just didn't know that she shared his.
"Mine?"
His laugh came out awkwardly,
"I think you can do better than that."
La Belle Dame felt a lump rise in her throat, it was as sticky as burnt honey and filled with bile. The thought was vile; she didn't want anything better than him - that wasn't even possible - she wanted him.
Looking at La Belle Dame it is easy to see or interpret the love she felt as naive or even juvenile; a short lived fixation of lust for a man everybody admired. But it wasn't, despite what any spectators would have thought, La Belle Dame had been waiting for this moment since she could remember because he is all she could remember.
And it was that fact that guided her instincts, ones that turned her youthful mind into a women. She rested her palm on his collarbone, feeling the bone and wrapping her fingers around his shoulder, it was broad despite his fatigue, a ghost of muscles that have only recently fell into decay. She wrapped her other hand around the other side of his neck, his skin was warm to the touch and the tips of her fingers scratched against stubble.
She breathed in, she wanted to be human and she was about to do one of the most human things possible; kiss Ragnar.
They did more than simply look at each other. They saw the other person and read their thoughts. It had only been a matter of time, La Belle Dame could not face the nervous anticipation any longer. She knew it was coming, coming since the moment she was able to talk to him.
Her lips were dainty and soft before the taste of poison could creep in. The kiss became desperate and craving. The connection was anything but pure; it was a kiss without mercy. And it drove Ragnar insane.
No other lover had kissed him like this before, or maybe it had just been too long that he had gone without passion. But emotions that he had repressed were now demanding to be felt.
