Stavanger Bay vikings mourn their dead

Krypton's assessment was a strange one to Gyda — was the Viking culture more ordered that any other? Perhaps. She didn't necessarily believe it to be so. It was chaotic and gory. It had it's own cons though to her it's pros would always outweigh them. Perhaps she romanced it too much and could not see it for what it was: brutal and ruthless. Then again, Gyda herself had conformed to these ways, had accepted them, the moment she had challenged her uncle to a duel and had won, stealing his life force but gaining the crown. She could have easily brushed it off as a seeker of justice in his tyranny. It was true that he had not been a good leader to the Cove but to claim that there was no desire for the throne ...well that would be a lie. He would have never made her a leader, and had proved this when he had laughed her offer off. “We have been called heathens, barbarians by many. Eldingar Valley is ruled by the Vikings and it is feared by them as well,” The raids upon the lesser packs were constant, though never to the point of entirely extinguishing them. Sometimes, they would offer something in return for the Vikings' protection that year: an amnesty from the raids. “The Jarl and, or, the Queen is the law but the throne isn't protected. Your spot upon it is never a guarantee. You can inspire loyalty and you can inspire trust and if you have those things you will be okay. At least until someone decides to brave a challenge.” 

Gyda shrugged. It was life and it was death; death was meant to be celebrated and a death in combat as one of the highest honors a Viking could achieve. 

A silver ear swayed in Krypton's direction as the other woman spoke before Gyda gave a gesture with her muzzle for her to follow. As they walked towards Gyda's next destination, the viking queen offered a demure smile. “I have not,” But that did not mean that she was opposed to the idea. “Mostly it is a fancy of men,” For the slave women were free game; but a tryst between a free viking woman and a slave male? That was utterly unheard of and likely taboo to boot. The walk was shorter, this time, and the clearing that came into view was abruptly and achingly familiar to her. “This is Sorg skjöld stúlku um  — the shield maiden's sorrow. My mother named it. She was extremely fond of this place, she came here often, sometimes even slept in the den she carved out there,” Gyda gestured with an elegant paw. “when she was angry with my father.” It was this place where Ragnar had told them about Nerian, who and what she was to him. She had not taken the news well, initially, but realized that Nerian hadn't been as bad as she had stubbornly considered her to be at first, believing that Ragnar had been trying to replace Thistle. That had never been the case, Gyda knew now.