Sleeping Dragon heavy is the head that wears the crown

Her short exploration of the southern territories had come to an end when she returns to the Dragon. Eventually, she would go further and explore, but for now it’s a little step at a time. With tensions between Drageda and the Grotto, she has little interest to spend more time away from her mountain than she cares for, but she knows she needs to further map out the territories missing from her mind. With the Phoenix wolves gone, a whole weight of relief gives her a calm while the grotto wolves don’t pose a threat in her mind.

It’s dark, and Thuringwethil is tired. There’s a roll in her stomach of hunger but she ignores it as she searches for a place to rest. She considers the cave @Gyda sleeps in, searching for the comfort of her queen, but she doesn’t go there. Her own cave—where Wildfire still has taken refuge—isn’t in her interest either. Unsure of where she wants to rest for the night, Thuringwethil moves and continues to climb the mountain. She’d explored as much as she could without reaching an unsafe altitude, and doesn’t continue the incline, but she finds a spot that’s reclusive enough to give her a little peace of mind.

The sky is clear, and the wind is gentle against her fur, and the ground is illuminated by the stars hanging above her.

It had been a while since her talk with Gavriel and his agreement to aid her in the creation of Drageda's future. The Viking Queen had deigned to give it some time, to know that he was sure and would not come to her with a changed mind before she had spoken to Thuringwethil of it. The changes in her body had begun in earnest this time and Gyda had favored seclusion because of it. There was a small measure of relief in knowing that she wasn't broken after all and that she would be able to bear Sleeping Dragon it's royalty. The valkyrie's sleep was nothing short of restless, and she awoke many times before she eventually gave up on the idea of sleep. She very neatly groomed a piece of fly-away hair for a moment, feeling the vain need to nit-pick on her own appearance for no reason other than it gave her something else to focus her mind upon.

Her mind was just as restless, her thoughts in a constant racing swarm, fussing and worrying even about the smallest of things that were out of her control. She worried about the borders — which until she had ended her receptive cycle would be straying far away from for the sake of not attracting attention she did not want — to the caches. She supposed she could do some hunting but was prepared to tear the lungs out of any male other than Gavriel that came near her, and yet on second thought was filled with hesitation. The confines of her cave were safe but she was not the type of woman to stand still.

The night carried with it a nice breeze, the echoes of which Gyda could feel within the depths of her cave. She lifted herself to her paws and stretched for a moment, loosening the muscles that lined her body before she padded to the cave's mouth, peering up and out at the horizon, velveteen, whose darkness was dotted with millions of stars. A familiar scent grasped the shield-maiden's attention and without truly thinking about it she followed it. It had been a while since Thuringwethil and her had had a moment to be alone, to speak one on one. The last time, admittedly, hadn't gone so well but Gyda was confident that such would not be an issue for this conversation.

Eventually, she found the Grounder, a canine silhouette against the darkened rock. “Having trouble sleeping too?” Gyda asked her, keeping to the rock face below the Commander for the moment.

Now that everything is said and done, Thuringwethil looks forward to a little piece and quiet. The mess with the Grotto could be put on hold, until they cross the line and make their first mistake. For now, she wants them to rest and heal and return to their prime before the thought of any other bought of violence to get the results she needs. Esaro’s message must have carried significant consequence that they weren’t a match for a full pack of fighters.

It is only the tip of the iceberg for Drageda.

Gyda’s scent distracts her, tension rising in her chest when she hears the voice. She expects criticism, for some reason, but the queen’s tone is even, and soft. Thuringwethil closes her eyes and shifts away from the stone wall, the wind touching her fur again, and she dips her nose and softly bumps the underside of her chin. An act of parallel movement instead of an act of submission, before her nose touches her neck and she engulfs her in a quick embrace.

“It has been a long winter,” she murmurs though she’s unsure if her words are enunciated enough but she doesn’t care, withdrawing and taking a step back to distance them. Thuringwethil puts her attention on the future then, spring would be plentiful for them (oh, if she only knew) without the Phoenix wolves to their south. Their hunting grounds would open up and their legacy would finally begin.

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.

Their touch is not as awkward as Thuringwethil anticipated. Things have been a whirlwind lately and their time together has been short and professional. Gyda’s words, however, are enough to give her a little encouragement she can relish in for a moment longer. That spring would bring them plenty and peace and everything, eventually, would settle. Routine would take hold—and the occasional hiccup wouldn’t make her complain, surviving is their biggest goal after all. Resettling their claim, merging their culture, it would eventually fall into place.

It isn’t long, however, that the comfort floods from Thuringwethil’s cheeks and her expression hardens, only for a moment, as Gyda speaks about her future litter. The dark leader lets a sigh slip between her lips, quiet and unheard, before she offers any semblance of positivity.

“Gavriel is a good choice,” she says, though something settles a little uneasily in her stomach. Because he was, by blood, related to her? Familial relations are often severed by the time they can be freed from their parents, as Fos Goufa, or the fact Gyda thinks one of her children would eventually lead Drageda. “An heir to Drageda is only a Fos Goufa,” she, however, does remind the silvery female. “But an heir to Sleeping Dragon could be,” Thuringwethil says with a smile and a flick of her tail, hopeful not to discourage the woman.

Even if they founded Sleeping Dragon together, Heda still lives within her, still rules over wolves that are not within her physical reach, and will never die. Gyda can join into that culture, into her own beliefs—not that she expects it anymore than for Thuringwethil to believe in Valhalla—but it is there, nonetheless, and Thuringwethil wouldn’t take it away from the viking queen.

It remained strange to Gyda, even now, how Drageda and Sleeping Dragon were spoken of as if they were separate instead of one. Perhaps it was their own way of holding onto their separate cultures though, admittedly, it felt as if Gyda had given up much of her own. Perhaps it was subconsciously of the shield-maiden's own doing, but Ragnar had never believed in forcing his culture or religion upon those who were not his children and Gyda held to the same mentality, whether she knew it or not. Her rituals were done in private and in seclusion — a far cry from the fan fairs of the Cove; but Sleeping Dragon was not Odinn's Cove, nor would it ever be. This was something Gyda had accepted from the very start. “Right,” Gyda concurred. Though she had long since determined that her children could choose whatever they wanted: Sleeping Dragon or Drageda. They had two wealthy cultures at their paws and the Viking Queen saw no reason to discourage whichever they chose — or if they chose none at all.

“One of my children will be groomed to take over for me, when that time comes.” Whether it would be the first litter or the fourth Gyda did not know (wasn't even sure she'd be alive to see a fourth litter into the world); but Gyda did not want to linger upon the future for long. Her fate had already been decided for her, ordained by the Gods long ago. There was no mystery for her to puzzle out, no reason to speculate about what she could not change. “I am surprised he agreed. I did not realize how...strongly my proposal would come about,” Admittedly, Gyda had thought it was a golden deal. Allowing something rare with little to no commitment if that was what the sire wanted. Admittedly, she thought, perhaps most women sought a life long mate — but then again Gyda was not most women. She was Gyda, and the shield-maiden perhaps feared the commitment of being tied down, afraid that if she gave in to one of her feelings and pursued a romantic interest that she would either be rejected or that her freedom would be stifled.

“I feel I should let you know that Gavriel may come to you to confirm that we have your blessing.” Whether Gavriel would or not, Gyda could not say. She supposed she understood the hesitation on his part, but Gyda, too, was an Alpha and she did not need anyone's permission. A blessing was fine, perhaps, but the truth was even if Gavriel wouldn't have agreed, or Thuringwethil for that matter, Gyda would have pursued her dream of children anyway, at the end of the day.

Thuringwethil's lips purse but she washes it away with a lick over her muzzle, flattening out her features. There has been tension between them from the start and, perhaps, she'd been hasty in their decisions but there is little to be done. They had something together and giving it up isn't in either of their interests, not any time soon. She could move on and rehome those that follow Heda but a short list through their ranks didn't leave her with a lot of options. Their populous would never match Seageda within the dragon, but Drageda's reaches much farther than her own touch. Merging with Gyda and her own way forces her paw more than she'd like to admit but no longer can she deny or ignore.

"They will be a new generation for this place," she says, quietly and in thought. Not another set of followers for Heda or the Vikings, separately following their own, but something conjoined together. Perhaps if she'd reached out to Odinn's Cove to join Seageda before this time, it would have matured and they wouldn't be in this spot. Thuringwethil doesn't give herself a chance to worry long as she states that Gavriel will show up at her own doorstep for a blessing. She doesn't doubt it, but brushes it off, not expecting anything less.

Gyda offered Thuringwethil a sage nod at her observation though Gyda did not change her opinion of what they were. Her children would be her heirs: that was simply how it worked in her culture. She was confident that when the time came, a ways down the road, one of them would rise to succeed her: but that was far from now and Gyda did not linger upon it for long. The shield-maiden shifted her weight, once, inhaled deeply and let it out with a soft exhale. “Would you care to join me for a hunt?” The Viking Queen invited to Thuringwethil, leaving it open for her to accept or deny. There was little more to say, Gyda felt, and she was getting a little hungry.

The woman does not have much else to say on the matter and Thuringwethil doesn’t push it. Their views on children drastically different but she does not bother to dispute it anymore. She managed to find a way to her terms and it is all she asked for, aside from waiting—which, in hindsight, would have been ideal—but she shakes it off anyway. The question, however, surprises her that Gyda would want to hunt so late in the evening with the sky turned dark. Thuringwethil shakes her head then, quietly declining the offer, and instead choosing to rest for the remainder of the evening.