"I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too."

Hours had turned to days and Ragnar knew if he remained sojourning here he would die and the gods wouldn't make any exception to grant him access to Valhalla; the King would die a coward's death.

Starvation.

Along with voices taunting him in his mind and a chill dominating his body, the ice creeping through his veins and making his blood its home and paralyzing him.

Yet he did not move.

Ragnar lay shivering in the clouded sun and gently closed his eyes, waiting for fate. He didn't want to die yet he wouldn't care if he never woke up.

---

It was time.

La Belle Dame couldn't wait any longer, this would be her only opportunity. Her heart beat unevenly and at an alarming rate and she struggled with this unexpected flux of emotions as she watched Ragnar fall into his deep sleep and she believes this is what love feels like.

The forest crunched softly under her feet as she ran to him. She was praying to herself that he would not awaken but her heart beat faster as the King didn't even stir in his sleep at the sudden noise against the silence.

Before the man had been a dream and La Belle Dame had been jealous of the reality that Lagertha and Aslaug experienced. However none of that mattered now, they were gone, Ragnar had chosen to leave and she thought she could fill the void in his heart they had left. If only it could have been that easy.

Before Ragnars face had been a dream, a vision of a smile she believed she could sense. Now as she drew closer she saw the King for who he was; beautifully broken.

She walked along the waterside delicately dipping her toes in the cold water as she went. It was freezing and she understood the chills that littered his skin as she drew closer. But what entranced her was his tattoos. The nearer she became the beauty of the ink on his skin became clearer and she followed the lines with her eyes from his brow and around his skull until her eyes began to water with concentration.

Then she saw the line of sweat that painted his brow, she wanted to draw her hand along it, and rid his pores of the moisture. She didn't dare touch him.

His cheeks were painted a rosy red alike to a small child's, spiderwebs of veins were becoming visible as the skin itself drew more haggard with age and the relenting sun. She pictured him in his youth, with his long braided hair and without his thick beard that was beginning to grow.

She did not miss the young Ragnar, that is not why she felt like crying. She cried because it was only the greying Ragnar that would know her, time was against him but it was no problem for her.

La Belle Dame paused quietly in the stream at his head and let the sound of running water and his breath mix. It felt so real that she became aware that is was. She was here.

Stray strands of her ginger hair brushed against her lips and she pushed them behind her ear. But there wasn't time to think of her own appearance as she was drowned in Ragnars.

His body moving startled her and she involuntarily gave a sharp cry but she caught herself halfway, clamping her hand over her mouth. His mouth upturned instinctively as his lips cracked and his head moved slightly.

Did it mean anything? Was this a desperate attempt to crawl away from the grasp of death? Or was it merely Ragnar in a dream?

It was the latter.

Ragnar merely saw of a vision of a beautiful lady alike to the girl in the flesh and blood, a different incarnation of La Belle Dame. The Vikings hungry mind lustfully searched the sight in front of him as the true women did the same, searching for signs of life.

The air had a chill and goosebumps littered both of their skin. She shuddered under the cold but now she was so close she didn't plan on moving.

His chest was beginning to rise less frequency as it looks liked Ragnar had the same thought of never moving.

She wanted to say something yet her throat was dry and she stopped herself for a reason unknown. He would awaken soon enough, she could wait her with the scent of burnt wood and roses filling her senses whilst being mesmerised by the intricate detail of the ink on his skin.

When she truly started craving the touch of his lips was when they moved.

They smiled and La Belle Dame smiled too.

Then his eyes flickered open to the new sunlight in his life.

His first sense that came to him was his hearing. He didn't hear the welcoming cheers of Valhalla or the crackling burning of Hell. He heard tranquility and birds suddenly starting to sing.

Then he felt her.

Her presence overcame his body like the drug he craved. His arteries opened and burned with hot blood that she injected into him.

His breathing may be keeping him on this Earth but suddenly the gods has given him a reason to be alive.

Then he saw her, and how his lonely heart burst at one mere glance of her.

And how she smiled, she smiled with the happiness of a wife at the alter or a father at the birth of his son.

La Belle Dame was finally with Ragnar Lothbrok.