Stavanger Bay vikings mourn their dead

There was never a moment of uncertainty for Gyda, never a moment of fear — at least not where the large female was concerned at any rate — only caution. Ragnar had taught her that there was nothing to fear in losing, that there was nothing to fear in death. There was fear to be found in losing things important and loved but not in death itself. Knowing that the Jarl had not died afraid was comforting to his daughter who loomed over his grave, still protective despite that the other woman had ceased her approach. For a moment they appeared to be content to study one another, the svelte Viking Queen and her surprisingly broad companion. Gyda was satisfied that her questions were given a response, ears of silver velveteen cupping forth atop the elegant curve of her crown to show she was giving her companion her undivided attention. 

“It is falleg …-” Gyda caught herself slipping into Norse and with a small, soft “ehh” noise gave a short pause to mull over her too rusty translations. “-beautiful, is it not?” The Viking Queen finished her inquiry with a soft hum in her throat, offering the broad woman a small smile. It was devoid of it's normal charm and radiance but she was grieving, even if she had no intentions of letting it show. Her grief was her own and she would not burden this stranger with the weight of it. “This place is called Stavanger Bay, my father named it and once ruled here as it's mighty Kóngur,” It was her home, it was Ragnar's final resting place and Gyda wondered what kind of awful thing had happened that had caused Thistle to give it up. She had not known her mother to ever go down without a fight for their fiery dispositions were extremely similar. “Ah, King I think is the word...” She offered a sheepish, apologetic curve of her lips. Speaking in the common tongue was something she would have to get used to.

“I was not worried, friend,” Gyda offered the woman peaceably as she (Krypton) offered an olive branch with her words “I mean you no harm”. Gyda might be much smaller, but that did not make her any less skilled. Besides, she had taken down a male much more powerful and she assumed, experienced, then the stranger before her. Of course, the Valkyries had been on the Queen's side for Vali was predictable and had underestimated her sorely, and Gyda had not been afraid to use her cunning to gain her an advantage on the battlefield. Regardless she was in no mental state to be fighting. She put on a grand show but that was all that it was: a show to mask the pain and grief that roiled within her. “Gyda. I am Gyda Loðbrok, Ragnarssdaughter.”