Sleeping Dragon Fire

He assured her that he wouldn't ever be fooled by her size and the shield-maiden offered him a coquettish smile, small though it was as his growl danced across the line of rumble and chuckle. “Good,” Gyda affirmed with a tease in her accented voice, her tail giving a soft, perhaps even playful flick behind her. She knew little to next to nothing of him, but she admired his strong build — perhaps because it reminded her of Ragnar. Though some part of Gyda did enjoy proving others wrong. There had been something archaically gratifying about being the victor over Váli whom had seen her for little more than a pretty face: good for bearing children and little else. She had ended a tyrant and bigot, just as Ragnar before her had and it had felt good. The day she'd stolen his life was the day that she had extinguished the last of what made her a girl, of what childish innocence she had managed to retain; though Ragnar had not allowed her or her brothers to hold onto it for very long. He had prepared and trained them for their ascensions into the adult world of his culture and Gyda had been grateful for his teachings ...and those of Dagrun whom had finished what Ragnar had started grooming in her.

“You are ambitious?” Gyda inquired, though she did not see this as a bad thing. All men are ambitious. To some, such as Ragnar, rank had meant everything. Even Gyda herself had to admit that since she'd had a taste for ruling she had come to like it. She was too proud to be anything less then what the Gods had written her to be born for: a queen. Rank challenges had been normal in Odinn's Cove and she saw nothing wrong with them, but of course if she would have it would have been overtly hypocritical of her. “I know so little about you,” Gyda surmised thoughtfully with a small cant of her head. “Tell me about yourself.” It was an invitation, not a command and Warbone was welcome to decline it if he wished.