With her children rapidly growing and no longer needing her constant supervision Gyda spent many of her days patrolling the borders and sparing with Eske who seemed like she became more and more aggressive each day. There was the fire of a valkyrie in her ...and though she didn't dare speak it aloud: the fire of Ragnar Loðbrók. Yet, she saw the man in her children despite that he had not been her biological father. It was circumstance of her coloring and her own disposition but being able to make the connection warmed her, which was why she kept it as her own little secret. Something to give her a small smile when she needed it. The request of her eldest child was heard and Gyda's course altered immediately, her even strides drawing her near to the rendezvous den. Soon, it would be too small for all of them: her children would leave the nest which made her wonder, idly, if Gavriel, too would leave or if he would remain to keep her company. As it was, Gyda was so used to sharing her living space that the thought of having it to herself once more was an awfully lonely thought.

She brushed it away as her pace slowed, her daughter's pale form coming into view as she neared. Gyda smiled lovingly and closed the distance to place a kiss atop her daughter's head. “Hello my sweet Freyja.” She cooed softly to her child in greeting.

Gyda watched as her eldest daughter nudged the rat — no doubt her catch — towards her. When Freyja offers her the prize, Gyda's smile is wide. “How very generous of you Freyja,” Gyda responds with unbidden pride and gratitude to her tone, accepting her daughter's gift as she draws the rat's corpse nearer to her. “Thank you, döttir.” Though her children do not speak her native tongue Gyda offers them words here and there. She has never forced her pagan beliefs upon them and it was clear that most (if not all of them) favored the Grounder culture. She does not blame them. She is a lone sheild-maiden in a place where she does not belong. A Queen without the throne of her Gods. Yet it is Gyda's home. She played her own part in seeing it's conception and she continued to practice her faith and culture by herself. She was never alone in it. Not truly. She could feel the Gods all around her, even when she was the odd woman out and she knew she had brother's out there ...somewhere. Whether they practiced the faith of their father or not she was unaware.

She tucks the rat behind her with a charming, elegant smile, not yet hungry enough to eat it though she knows she will cherish her daughter's hard work later. Part of her feels guilty for accepting it and yet she had not wished to insult Freyja by insisting that she keep it instead. “What do you have planned for today?” Gyda asked her, wondering if the gift was all Freyja had called her for or not.

Hearing of Freyja's ambitions to lead warmed Gyda's heart greatly. It may not have been in the name of her own Nordic culture but that did not bother the shield-maiden in the slightest. So long as one of her children aspired for leadership then her legacy would continue through them. It was in Freyja's blood and though Gyda did not know if her daughter considered her fate in the same way: it was her destiny. She had been named after the Queen Goddess, after all. Odin's wife and the true queen of the valkyries. “Then I will do all that I can to see you there, Freyja.” Gyda promised her eldest child with a wavering tone of pride and swell of emotion in her accented voice. She would do what it took to see that her daughter's aspirations were achieved and that she would go unchallenged. She did not have the power she had once held but the shield-maiden would fight — to her very death if that was what it took — to see Freyja (and all of her children, of course!) succeed.

“I do not know much about Heda and your father's culture,” As it was not her own, but it had it's similarities and also it's stark differences. Surely, though, Thuringwethil had Freyja covered in that area. “but if you think it will help you I can teach you how I ruled Odinn's Cove and how your grandfather, Ragnar — the bravest and fiercest of warriors and Jarl's — ruled.” By extension her rule was modeled greatly after his. “If that is what you wish. I was not in power long here. I chose to step down after I gave birth to you and your sisters and brother.” Gyda gave a soft, affectionate hum. She could look back on the struggle of bearing them and the pain of labor with fondness now. They had undoubtedly been worth every moment of it. Surely, this, too Freyja already knew. Thuringwethil had not allowed her Drageda to forget Gyda's once role, the part she played in it's creation and for that the shield-maiden was grateful. But Gyda's story was far from over and she had faith that the Gods had written her a good one. Her future was already decided but to her it still remained vastly unknown with endless possibilities.

What could Gyda say about Ragnar? As her daughter, his granddaughter settled beside her, encouraging the telling of it Gyda felt her smile grow sad. She mourned his death, still. She always would. The last she had seen Ragnar alive they had fought and a lot of things had been said that she had not meant. His distrust that she was speaking the truth to him had hurt her and unable to stand the pain that he did not believe her she had unfairly and regrettably lashed out at him. Gyda felt his absence, and though she knew he was where he wanted to be — Valhalla — she still grieved. She shouldn't have; but she did. “He protected his wolves and they trusted him. Some even loved him. I doubt there was one of them that would not have answered a call for help would he have ever given one. But sometimes when you lead, there will be hard decisions you have to make, Freyja and you have to be able to make them justly. Ragnar was not afraid to make those hard decisions. He was true to the Gods and he was true to himself. He did not ask anything of his wolves that he, himself, was not willing to do. He respected them.” Without subordinates a leader was nothing.

Gyda did not realize how talking about him still hurt her. It was no easier, now, close to a year later. “And when I overtook the throne of Odinn's Cove I ruled as I had seen him rule.” She spoke so softly it was nearly a whisper. Gyda had done well in the Cove. She had prospered and beneath the guidance of Ragnar's half-brother she had grown to be loved among the Cove wolves. It all felt like a lifetime ago now. Perhaps, in a way it was. That was a different life and she was not so sure the way in which Ragnar, and even herself, had ruled would fit Freyja.

“Your grandfather was a great Jarl, Freyja, but he was not always a well liked man,” Gyda admitted. “He was ambitious. He knew what he wanted and he did not stop until he got it. He had many enemies. When I was a girl, younger than you, a pack had settled on an Island called Wheeling Gull up on the coast,” Gyda gestured in it's general direction with an errant flick of her muzzle. “Ragnar took it upon himself to set boundaries for them. To threaten them from their home for they were too close to our own. They came inland to hunt and Ragnar was afraid there would not be enough food. This war continued for a long time. He took two of their wolves he found trespassing as captives and made examples out of them. He did what other leaders would not,” Of course in their culture this was not anything to look down upon. It was all commonplace. Accepted.

“When you lead Freyja, you must always put the pack first. You cannot be worried about other pack's survival or their wolves or what they will think of you. You must earn the love and loyalty of those that follow you, you must think about their survival and it will not be easy.” Gyda, herself, had slain her uncle in battle and usurped his throne for her own taking. Though she had garnered the support of the Cove to do it, Vali had put up a hard fight and none were allowed to intervene. There had been only two choices. Victory or Valhalla. Freyja was young, not yet experienced in the hardships of life. But she would learn: as they all did.

“He did,” Gyda confirmed her daughter's words with a sage nod of her head. “It was not always the most popular choice but he did what he thought was best for his pack and family.” And though many had, perhaps, not agreed with Ragnar's methods could anyone truly fault him for putting them first in his mind? She didn't, at any rate. “That is correct. My culture, my beliefs were his own. Your father and Heda's culture are similar in many ways but it is also starkly different.” There were times Gyda felt homesick for the Cove, and for a pack that never would be again but she was apart of Sleeping Dragon even if it was a memory. She was invested and she was doing as the Gods commanded of her. This and her children were to be her legacy and Gyda was content with her lot in life. It was a good life, so far. Still, despite being the black sheep of Drageda she held true to her faith and beliefs and culture, as she always would.