Sleeping Dragon heavy is the head that wears the crown

Thuringwethil's touch came as a surprise to Gyda, unexpected as it had become. Selfishly, Gyda allowed herself to revel in the Grounder's touch and further embrace, pressing her own nose against Thuringwethil's neck. Gyda had missed this, she realized, and was unsure if her return of the embrace spoke what she did not speak aloud or not. Whether it did or didn't, Gyda supposed, mattered little at the moment ...if at all. When Thuringwethil withdraws from their embrace Gyda did as well, and following Heda's lead also took a step back, her gaze meeting the ebony Grounder's own with affection. Would Gyda not have been so quiet she would have missed Thuringwethil's words spoken into her neck, but Gyda had been able to make them out well enough. “Spring will bring with it the promise of new life, just as it always does.” Of this, Gyda is confident because that was how it had always been. Little did she know how very wrong her statement would be within a few days' time.

“Speaking of the promise of new life,” Gyda broached the subject, figuring that while they were sort of on the topic it was a good time to bring it up. “I have decided who will sire me children, he not only meets my standards but exceeds your own, I think,” Thuringwethil had said Drageda but Gyda had done, in her mind at least, one better. “Gavriel has agreed to give me, to give Drageda it's royal heirs, to extend our legacy beyond what it has become.” Under the condition that Thuringwethil approved, of course, but Gyda couldn't fathom any reason she could foresee why the Grounder Commander wouldn't. Gyda would have the babies she wanted so very desperately, and Drageda would have heirs to succeed the Viking Queen in the (hopefully distant) future.