#dagrid

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Dagur changed a lot over the years. Primarily in terms of looks: lost the braid, grew a patchy beard, gained a few scars, new armor, ditched the dorky helm. But, despite these changes, Sigrid recognized him immediately.

And it was on sight.

Her hammer narrowly misses him the first time. A familiar warning swing that he finds he missed. His betrothed's shows of affection never were… conventional, to say the least. Dagur had always loved that about her.

The second swing misses by a significantly smaller margin. Still, he laughs while dodging about.

"Isn't she actively trying to kill you?" someone calls from the side. Sigrid doesn't look, she doesn't care who it is.

"I know! Just like old times!" Dagur muses.

Ah, nothing's changed.

Or, so he thought.

Back in the day, she would have stopped lunging by now. Sigrid has always been aggressive, and tied to her tribe's ways. Sparring is a big part of their courting rituals - something about finding the one person you'd want to grow alongside for the rest of your life. He's a little rusty on their ways. It's been almost five years since he was last there.

"C'mon, Siggy, is that any way to treat your future husband?" He's trying to diffuse the situation, but, as always, she has a response locked and loaded.

"You denied yourself that title when you missed our wedding!" Sigrid snarls, once again missing Dagur and turning the side of a tree to splinters.

Dagur dodges again with a laugh. Agile as ever, he easily ducks under her weapon and skips to the side. "That's hardly my fault!" He protests, raising his hands in a placating gesture. The amused smirk remains in place, "I had other things to do."

"You-" Sigrid cuts herself off, choking on her own words. Not in the way most women do before they burst into tears. No, that's not Sigrid's style. The way her nostrils flare, her jaw tensing as her gaze locks onto him speaks to nothing but raw, unbridled rage. "I'm going to kill you!!!"

Has she tried to take his head off in the past? Sure, plenty of times. Never with this much anger, though. Over the years, her swing has gotten more gentle. Now, however, what with them having not seen each other in almost five years, and with him having missed their wedding that was due almost three years ago with no word of why or where he was… she's become genuine in her threat. Sigrid is absolutely steaming, rage boiling deep in her gut and rushing through her veins.

Try as he might, Dagur can't laugh it off. The chuckle dies in his throat, drying up into a lump that sticks, making swallowing hard. This is different. It's not like the flirty spars from their early teen years - spars she dominated without fail. If he doesn't find a way to smooth things over, and fast, she may actually kill him. His smirk wavers at the realization. This isn't flirty, or playful, or fun.

She's going for the kill.

Dagur is not usually a man of words, but today, he will have to be.

"Sigrid! Sig. Siggy… Can't we- AH!" He narrowly twists out of reach of her hammer, watching a spiderweb of cracks span the surface of the boulder behind him, "talk about this?"

"You were supposed to be my everything!"

Yeah… he does recall saying that at least once. Promised her a lot. Uncharacteristically sweet words that decimated a layer of the violent walls his fiancee surrounded herself with.

"But you took it from me instead."

There's barely time for Dagur to process what that could mean. She's already swinging on him again. This time, he takes the initiative to stop her. Lunging himself towards her, her grabs the handle of her hammer. It halts her swing, but he can't tear the weapon from her grasp. She finds leverage in this, and uses the weapon to pull him forward so she can introduce the crown of her head to the bridge of his nose.

That earns her a very manly yelp from the Berserker Chief. His hand releases her hammer, going to cup around his bleeding nose instead. It wouldn't be the first time he broke his nose, and it likely won't be the last, but Gods! That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!

A low growl rumbles from his throat as he glares at her from over his hand, "You're taking this way too seriously! So what if I missed the wedding?"

The words feel doomed the moment they fall from his tongue. Had he meant it? Doubtful. There's a pain blooming in his face right now, and adrenaline pumping through his veins something violent. He was never very good at thinking before he spoke. Their wedding was supposed to be a huge deal, a joining of tribes. He had greatly been looking forward to it, but…

The fast, deep breaths Sigrid is taking is greater proof that his words did not calm her in the slightest. If anything, they pissed her off that much more.

There's a different layer to the tension in her voice. Something he can't quite place as she speaks, "You could have just called the engagement off when you took the role of Chief. Why not just do that?" It's almost eerily calm, how she talks to him. The grip on her hammer tightens until the knuckles go white, "Would have saved my father a lot of expense… and myself a lot of turmoil."

Wiping the blood from his nose sends a new sting of pain through his face. Taking the safe road for a moment - a rare occurrence from him - he takes a step back. Any syllable from his lips could trigger her next attack. He needs to be careful about this.

"Siggy, I-" Finding the right words is hard enough during a meeting with his allies. Finding the right words to smooth over this terrible, violent reunion of lovers? "I never wanted to break our engagement. Other things just… came up. I got busy!"

"Well, I hope whatever it was, was worth it." Her hammer winds back once more, her eyes narrowing at him, "because you missing it called off not only our betrothal, but the treaty between the Berserkers and Bloodtides."

His eyebrows raise, all pain in his nose temporarily forgotten. Truthfully, he never cared for peace treaties, but the one with the Bloodtides was arguably important given that Tribe's volatile nature - and the betrothal attached to it. "The treaty was cancelled, too?"

"Not that you were ever there to sign it. Far as I know, the last four years that island hasn't seen head nor ship of a Berserker." She snorts derisively, shaking her head. "Even if they hope to salvage the treaty with you, it's none of my concern any longer."

Planting her feet, Sigrid draws her hammer back once more, "I'm not one of them anymore, thanks to you."

"Wha- Shouldn't that be a good thing? I thought you hated it there!"

He had born witness numerous times to the way Sigrid's village and family treated her - though, it was her family that was the greatest perpetrators. He caught on in later years to how her father subtly put her down. The trials he put her through to prove her worthy of being heir to the Chief of Bloodtide were brutal. True to Sigrid's almost unnatural strength, however, she always came out on top.

And it never did matter.

Her much younger brother was treated like a true little prince. The only person who could put that spoiled brat in his place was Dagur, and that was only because her mother and father didn't think scolding the Berserker heir was worth the potential risk of Sigrid's betrothal going under.

Sigrid speaks through clenched teeth, that thick tension in her voice again. "Bloodtide was all I had! That, and you!"

Just saying it makes her feel weak. What's worse is the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

"My final vow was to hunt you down, assuming I couldn't find proof that you were dead." Staring him down, she points the blunt head of her hammer at him, a mere few feet away. "You look like you've been thriving, though. Carefree and malevolent as ever…

"So, I'm gonna lop your head off and parade it on the end of my hammer."

"You're father won't welcome you back for tha-"

"My father be damned!"

She takes a deep breath, trying to reign back whatever tears might try to form. She won't be weak in the face of the man who betrayed her so deeply. She won't…

"My father only saw our betrothal as a means to be rid of me. Even when you never showed up, he still found a way. This isn't about him. This is about the shit you put me through!"

The swing of her hammer is not as powerful as the last several times. In fact, he's able to catch it with good effort. Like this, they're at a standstill. Her breath heaves, hands shaking in their hold on the handle. Worse yet, her eyes are wet. Deep hazel irises burn with anger, but the hatred in them is lacking.

She doesn't hate him.

She doubts she ever truly did.

What she hates, is the situations her always seems to trap her in. An unwanted betrothal when she was a child. Constant, triannual meetings where she was forced to be around him for the sake of their courting. The wedding she finally came to terms with and was actually excited for… And now, this. Emotional, overwhelmed… unsure if she actually wants to kill him or hear him out.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

"You abandoned me-"

"I was in prison!" He finally snaps back, shaking her by their combined grip on her weapon. For emphasis, and to shake some sense into her.

Sigrid stares dumbly at him. Then blinks. The seemingly permanent scowl on her lips and brow lightens to something more baffled.

He was not a constant presence in Sigrid's day-to-day, but, from the day their parents worked a betrothal into the treaty between the Bloodtide and Berserker tribes, he was a constant in her life.  Their families met more often than standard of treaty signings, allowing them more time to bond for their inevitable future.  Sigrid saw through it.  She knew it was her father's way of bumming his oldest, his heir, onto a different tribe so her little brother could succeed him.  Even as a child, she wasn't blind to it.

That's why she hated him.  At least, one of the reasons.

He's only a means to an end for her father, so why is he taking it so seriously? Bringing her gifts on every visit, squawking poetry and odes, putting her little brother in his place when he tries to take of whatever it is he's brought with him.  He prioritizes her, weirdly enough.  To keep up appearances, she would wager.  It wouldn't look good to his father if he was as put off by this arrangement as the tempermental Gadsby girl.

She's tried everything to deter him.  Everything she could possibly think of.  Every violent act, every attempt of her hammer at his head, every sharp comment and insult- it only seems to spur him on more!  Even the boys of her own tribe, a people who spar as a part of courting, find her methods aggressive and a clear sign that she doesn't want this arrangement.  But Dagur, Son of Oswald, can't seem to take the hint.

Or, he refuses to.  He seems the headstrong sort that would see her disdain as a challenge.  It's cruel, but on brand for a Berserker.

She hates him.  Vehemently.

And yet, he grows on her.  It's infuriating how he's managing to get under her skin.  How, despite her anger at the situation, the reasoning for it, she's grown to anticipate his visits.  She could do without the gifts, but she does take a certain joy in watching him threaten her spoiled brat of a brother when he tries to take of the fruits he brings his betrothed on occasion.  Perhaps it's gift enough, on its own.