Sleeping Dragon of all the things i left behind, i miss my heart the most

Thuringwethil assured the silver shield-maiden that her apology wasn't needed and explained that she had purged her leaders, and the tone in the ebon woman's voice spoke that there had been no other choice for her. This, Gyda understood. She had not been a leader when she challenged Váli to the duel for his rank knowing that it would either be his life or hers, but she had heard what the wolves of Odinn's Cove had to say, that Ragnar's once dearest friend had been exiled to Freyja's Moor simply because Floki had been perceived as a threat, that until that point he had thought to rise up against the youngest of Eitrissons. The Vikings did not fear much but Váli had proven that his leadership skills were that of Björn's own: not anywhere up to par with Eitri and Ragnar's. It was not hard to earn the Cove's support — though out of them all it was Dagrún whose advice had helped her the most. Their laws, though, were clear: it was a fair fight between the two of them and no amount of support from the wolves would garner her any help. Váli had been older, more experienced but his cunning could not match Gyda's and she had ruthlessly used his weakness against him. His ability to easily underestimate her as a woman had greatly been her aid and partnered with Ragnar and Dagrún's training had won her the fight. It had been corruption that had led her to do it, knowing that the Cove deserved a better leader than the one they'd gotten stuck with. “It was corruption, then?” Gyda partially inquired. She suspected it was what had driven Thurngwethil to such great and perhaps costly measures; but did not dwell upon it long. Her friend was here, and she was alive. That was all that mattered now.

Gyda sighed softly into Thurin's embrace, relishing in the silent support it offered. Just because she was strong (most of the time) didn't mean she did not appreciate knowing that she had it. Her facade had broken when she had come to the conclusion that it was Ragnar that was gone from the corporeal world (for surely Stavanger Bay would not be abandoned any other way). Gyda had never expected Ragnar to die ...despite that she knew he was not as immortal as he had once seemed to her. As a small child she had fancied Ragnar as the God Oðinn himself. Tall, scarred, mysterious and powerful, and as all children think of their parents seemed to have the answer to everything. In the end, even legends could bleed. Even legends could die. “Thank you Thurin,” Gyda whispered leaning in after the darker woman nudged her nose to place a kiss upon the side of her muzzle. A rare albeit affectionate gesture from Gyda.

Thuringwethil's following words echoed what Gyda had been subconsciously planning all along. Make her own home; and while she had once intended to reclaim Stavanger Bay for her own so that Ragnar's legacy might live on in what she built she backed off the idea when she realized that The Sentinels had been claimed — though it had not been their claim that had made her change her mind. She had no problems fighting for what she wanted and she had been fully prepared to chase them away from lands that belonged to her family but was disarmed at the scent of young babes carried by a few of them along their borders. Gyda was no mother (not yet anyhow) but she was nearing the age in which she would be able to bear children and she was finding her maternal instincts to be slowly coming to life. She could not fight them, nor attempt to chase them from their home. Not while there were young ones. She could be ruthless but she was not that hard-hearted.

Caught up in her contemplation she almost did not catch the last bit of Thuringwethil's offer, though as the words sunk the silver shield-maiden's brow furrowed for a moment before they made sense and she thought about it, though in truth her answer required no thought. She trusted Thuringwethil with her life and thought that their cultures were truly not so different. “I will.” Gyda agreed with a firm nod.