Sleeping Dragon you married an icarus, he has flown too close to the sun

Gyda had been making the necessary preparations for her trip south though in reality it wasn't as if she had anything to “prepare”. All that was left was to inform Thuringwethil of her plan and give a rough estimate of when she'd return though it would be hard to say for sure. She wanted to stop by Ragnar's grave at least once more, not to say goodbye for she'd already done that when she first discovered it. She would be too far away to keep any kind of regular eye upon it so the job would fall to those mysterious scents laced with her mother's own. Gyda could only assume that someone was tending it because it seemed undisturbed and kept; not to mention when things began to set into motion she would have less time for travel. Ragnar had rarely left Stavanger Bay's borders and when she had taken the helm of Odinn's Cove as it's Drottning despite that Dagrun stood beside her as her Jarl she had very rarely left the borders of her father's birth place. There was always something that needed her attention, a mother about to give birth, or a sparring lesson, or guests at their borders, those welcome and those unwelcome.

The title of Queen burdened a lot of responsibility but Gyda liked the purpose it gave her. She needed the weight of responsibility or else she simply ...wandered as she'd done up until she'd reunited with Thurin. Gyda's silver ears perked when the call for her rose and with haste the Scandinavian woman made her way to where her companion's howl had originated. She saw her soon, eyes of caribbean ice touching upon the dark woman's frame, and then moving to her unknown companion as Gyda drew nearer. “Thurin,” Gyda greeted her fellow soon-to-be queen with an affectionate nuzzle to her cheek before her eyes moved to the unknown girl. Her markings were unique — not like any kind Gyda had seen before. “Who is this?” She inquired, curious, though it was open for either of them to make the introduction.