Stavanger Bay [m] ride of the valkyries

Tagging bby @Thistle Cloud but anyone is welcome to hop in b/c I'm trying to keep my threads within pack territories all welcome (but please let Danni reply first with Thistle). c:

The morning was fair, the sea breeze that blew offering a slight cool kiss but was otherwise pleasant to the valkyrja as she stood upon the rise of rock, over the arch that welcomed those home, a platinum silhouette against the golden sunrise. The waves crashed against the red rock, though abroad the ocean appeared to be calm. Calm was not what Brynhildr felt within. Though her face remained impassive, never once betraying her true feelings, inside she felt great turmoil. Roiling anger, unrest, and despair at having to mourn Ragnar's death. She had never met her father, but it was Unnr's stories of him that had helped to shape Brynhildr, and had made the fondness for the legendary Berserker grow. She was not sure what she had been expecting when her brothers and her had set out on this journey, but this...this was not it. An echo of what had once been great, the rotting corpse of a man that she had placed on a pedi-stool, favored of Odin, slayer of dragons and giants alike. Death was something their culture celebrated, yes, but to claim she was happy about it, taken to Valhalla before she and her brothers could even meet him would be a lie. She was not happy.

On top of that, her brothers had separated from her, trailing behind. They had been meant to travel together but as usual any commands she issued to them had been tossed to the wayside as they meandered off to explore and seek out conquests. She expected no less from them, but even so it this was not something she should have had to face alone. In actuality, she was far from alone, but turning to Ragnar's widow was not something the strong willed valkyrja viewed as an option. After all, Brynhildr was the daughter of Ragnar and his second Queen, Unnr — the one her lecherous father had deemed as sterile. Unnr was sickly, had always been small and fragile and how she had survived childbirth was at the mercy of Frigga and Freyja alone. The Goddesses had taken pity on her, they must have.

Discontentment settled beneath her breast as the fur of her chest puffed with slight indignation. She was here, and for now, it was where she would stay.

Thistle stood herself allowing the sea to wind around her. She was not sure how she felt about Ragnar's newest daughter, and truth be told. As much as she wished to offer a place in her breast for the girl. It was with a great deal of discontent and guilt that Thistle could not. Not because she didn't want to, but frankly because she was too broken at the moment to be any good for anyone. She was barely taking care of her own children. Oh she was trying, and she was putting on a brave face, and moving on with her life, but it was not easy. And Thistle knew that the girl had not wanted to meet a queen, but her father. Well Thistle was all the girl had at this point, for RAgnar was long gone.

Thistle didn't give a rat's ass if Bryn was the daughter of Ragnar and his second queen. For Thistle could boast more than all of them, that she had all of RAgnar they just had his body. She had his heart, he had given it to her himself. He had not strayed from her without permission, and he had not left her berefit unpurpose. He had loved her fiercely and that was something she took great pride in. SHe could care less if others didn't like it. And she could also care less if anyone, anyone thought they were better than she or her children because of a birthing order. She didn't know if this was how the girl felt, but she could imagine. Ragnar's children for some strange reason believed they were better than most, and Thistle didn't give a crap. The girl had told her of brothers coming behind her, so THistle watched for them, wondering about them. Would they look as her husband had? Would it hurt her to see them? Even the girl made her heart squeeze painfully time to time.

Thistle walked along the beach and the forest keeping both in sight. Her mind on other things, for a moment she did not notice the girl that had yet again rocked her world. Even in death Ragnar was managing to take her out of her comfort zones.

Movement down upon the beach had caught Brynhildr's attention, noticed out the corner of her eye. Gaze of turquoise, starbursted with caribbean ice turned then upon the shore below, body shifting upon her perch of massive rock to study the figure. From a distance it was hard to make out, but as the Queen of the Bay drew closer to the arching rock, Brynhilder recognized Ragnar's widow. Brynhildr had not known how she and her brothers would be received, though admittedly when she had envisioned it in her mind's eye it had been Ragnar that had greeted them, not his Queen bearing the heavy news of his death. Their meeting would have to be in Valhalla, when her time came, though Brynhildr doubted she would ever see the hall. She was not a warrior. This was not to claim that she could not hold her own — the Jarl's sons of Freya's Hollow had learned that lesson the hard way and could barely be considered men now for their arrogance. Brynhildr was not a slave and would never allow any man or woman to treat her as one.

For a moment, the valkyrja considered letting Thistle pass, to not draw attention to herself — though sooner or later someone would notice her upon the craggy outcropping of rock. The footholds had been hard for her to find as it began as a gentle slope covered in wildflowers and grasses but she was nothing if not persistent. Too easily she could misstep, even now, and fall to the waves below. If the collision with the water did not kill her, surely being beaten repeatedly against the rock by the rushing tide would do the trick. Yet, she was not afraid. After a few more seconds of debate, Brynhildr let out a soft bark, meant to alert Thistle to her presence above as the queen draped in platinum silver lounged elegantly across the rock, front paws stretching to hang off the uneven edge of it. Whether Thistle chose to engage her in conversation or ignore her presence was entirely up to the other woman, but at the very least she was aware of her presence and thus would not be startled if she happened to glance upwards.

Thistle did not doubt that most if not all of Ragnar's children would make it to Valhalla. After all not only was their father a brave warrior, but he had garnered the gods favor for years. Her own children had her and him, she had not been a warrior when she had met him. However, she was a shield Maiden now, and any and all who knew her. They knew this to be truer than true. Thistle herself would never allow a man to touch her without her consent, so it was in this that she and the girl had a common foothold. Not that she knew it though. She knew not much more than the girls name, and her mother. Oh she had heard of her mother, and she had given Ragnar the devil for forcing her to leave. For giving her away like a toy. She had given him the devil for Dagmar too actually, but it wasn't as if Byrnhildr would believe her.


The rocks did not scare Thistle nor did the sea. She felt at home here, it was not something that she was leery of. She cautioned others who were not of here, to be careful and mindful. Thistle's ears tightened to her head and she looked about her, a small snarl on her face. However, as azure blue eyes settled upon the girl, she blinked and dipped her muzzle to her. Had she known the girl thought of herself as queen, Thistle would have quickly set her straight there was only one queen of the bay and she was it.

Thistle looked about her for a moment and then with a quick calculation, she too scrambled up the craggy rocks. Though she stayed further back. You be careful there Brynhildr I would not have you fall. That was all she said, quietly letting her know she worried a bit after her, even if she wasn't her own.

To Brynhildr's surprise, Thistle did not ignore the soft bark she'd sent the Bay Queen's way. Brynhildr subconsciously stretched beneath the warm rays of the sun. It was pleasant sun bathing and had been too long since she'd found a spot as perfect for it as atop the craggy outcropping of rock that protected Stavanger Bay. Whatever dangers it might have held it was her new favorite spot. She might as well try to enjoy her time here even if everything thus far had gone the way entirely opposite than it had been supposed too. The warning in Thistle's voice was stiff but soft, giving Brynhildr some indication that regardless of where they stood as Ragnar's last wife and Ragnar's daughter that Thistle was, perhaps, a little concerned for her safety. It would have been touching if Brynhildr had known the widow better. As it was, Brynhildr offered Thistle a supple roll of her shoulders, canting her muzzle towards the sun for a few seconds before she focused her siren's gaze upon the older woman.

It was curious to Brynhildr, that Thistle did not want her to see her untimely end. Would it had been Brynhildr in Thistle's proverbial shoes, she would not only have wanted it, she'd have aided the process along herself. In Brynhildr's world there was no room for bastard children; nor children to another woman. It would have been her children and if any bastards/other children would ever arise she would kill them herself; but they were no doubt the valkyrja saw now, vastly different creatures. “Why?” Brynhildr was curious, nevertheless, seeking to understand the widow's way of thinking. What was to gain from her late husband's other legitimate (technically) children showing up? “You are a strange woman,” Brynhildr's accented voice complimented, though in truth the valkyrja was unsure how to take the kindness that she would not have afforded herself. “Does it not...,” For a mere moment Brynhildr trailed off trying to find the right translation. “ah hex? No...,” She let out a soft noise. “vex you? Me being here? And the idea of my brothers also coming?” With Norse as her primary tongue she found it slightly hard to communicate, though thankfully she knew enough common tongue to communicate.

Thistle herself enjoyed a sun bathing most of the time. Thought lately she had not managed to do so, having far too much other pressing concerns. Thistle did not know how to convey to anyone, where she stood or how she was. Ragnar had given up trying to understand her, long ago. He had just went with it, sometimes fighting with her. Their fights could make the world shake, but they always made up, sometimes numerous times. Thistle did not move as the girl focused her gaze back on her, just stood still.

Thistle had not realized until just now, that Brynhildr would have trouble speaking, she clicked her tongue softly. She should have known it, she could ease the girl's suffering in that aspect, but she wondered if she really should. Would Ragnar not want his children to learn to speak the common tongue? She would teach her if she would allow.  Það er erfitt að svara því. Það pirraði mig einu sinni, en það eru mörg börn að ég þyrfti að drepa Brynhildr. Og ég sé ekki málið í að gera börnin þjást vegna dearheart minn líkaði konur. Og að auki þú ert á undan mér, ég var ekki í myndinni á þeim tíma.Hefði þú verið yngri, eða nálægt eigin barna, aldri mínum. Ég myndi myrða þig skjótt, en Ragnar var ekki villast frá mér, án leyfis. Það er sárt og þú minnir mig mjög mikið af honum, og Tha þat eins mjúkum Barb, en ég myndi frekar hafa eitthvað af honum, en ekkert eftir. Ég hef eigin börnum mínum og nú þú og bræður þínir og ég mun revel í minningunni sem þú gefa mér, jafnvel ef þú veist ekki að þú koma þeim upp á yfirborðið.

Ragnar had never kept Unnr around long enough to know that she had conceived with him, and Unnr's common tongue was learned by a slave, or so Brynhildr's mother had always claimed. It had been broken, and while Brynhildr had sought to learn it better than her mother, she still found herself struggling with it. The wolves of Freya's Hollow and Odinn's Cove spoke Norse primarily, only bothering to speak the common tongue when situation dictated it — which was not often. Thistle answered Brynhildr's question with an honesty that surprised the valkyrja. She had not expected the widow to be so forthcoming with her, though she believed herself to be up high enough that her expressions were shadowed by the sunlight which was not gentle as it reached past Brynhildr to touch the warm sands that Thistle stood on below. A soft smirk played across Brynhildr's muzzle when Thistle went off into a winded explanation, stating that would Brynhildr have been younger that the widow of the legendary Ragnar Lodbrok would have murdered her. In her deign to sound tough, Brynhildr knew that she could have one uped the widow by saying that age didn't matter to her. She would have slaughtered any children from another, whether they were man and wife during the conception or not; and if Brynhildr herself would not have been able to she'd have commanded one of her brothers to do it for her.

“Frá sögur ég hef heyrt um Ragnar ég hissa á að hann tók utanaðkomandi sem konu. Hvað gerði þú svona sérstakt?” Brynhildr inquired, not unkindly. She was merely trying to understand because from what this widow told her, the Ragnar that Brynhildr had heard stories of was not the same Ragnar that had ruled these lands; but she had not mixed them up, surely. Dagrun himself had pointed her in this direction, and she trusted her uncle at his word.

"He does not sound like his legend." And in that, she was gravely disappointed.

Mature Content Warning

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Thistle was fast becoming irritated with the girl in front of her. Just as she was with all of Ragnar's spawn, despite her own. She was tired of constantly answering questions, and constantly trying to prove that she was just as worthy, probably more so than all the other freaking whores that Ragnar had slept with or conceived children with. Frankly, she was just tired of defending herself. It wasn't fair, and she was tired of it, and if Ragnar had been here right now .She probably would have ripped a chunk out of his fur, on principle. Thistle froze quietly at the girls words, and stared at her a strange look on her face.

Hann sagði mér að ég hélt hjarta a skjöldur-mær og hjarta hans. Hann dreymdi hann birgði mig blóðmör ég trúi er hvernig hann orðaði það. Faðir þinn var mikið eins og þjóðsaga hans, þar til hann hitti mig. Og jafnvel þá var hann enn eins og það, bara ekki eins lauslát en hann var samt bara maður.

Went ahead and added the little in the title so they are prepared for the language (which doesn't seem that bad to me? but I put the warning up anyway)! :P Also, clearly Bryn has this all wrong, LOL; sorry she's such a butt ;/.

The widow's face had taken on a strange look, no doubt her physical reaction to the valkyrja's unabashed question; but to Brynhildr whom had grown up hearing stories of a womanizer as opposed to a man sworn to one woman the idea of Ragnar having finally settled was, for some reason, unnerving to the young queen. What, precisely, was she supposed to do that the legends told of Ragnar Lodbrok did not match up to the man that this woman claimed to be him? So was Thistle's Ragnar an imposer or ...were the legends glorified, covered in gold to make him more than he really was?  Surely not the latter. Her culture put much faith and stock into their legends and to doubt them was as good as doubting the Gods themselves. A soft shiver rippled down her spine as she considered the blasphemous idea before she whisked the thought briskly away. “af kopar,” The valkyrja murmured, though she did not elaborate upon her epiphany. The widow said it herself: she was the reason that Ragnar did not live up to his legend. The reason that her 'stories' of Ragnar was a disappointment to Brynhildr and through her, his culture.

“It is a shame,” The Ragnarsdóttir sighed, stretching her front paws leisurely. “I would have liked to have met the God slayer himself.” What would sound like a compliment to anyone else, was not precisely meant as a compliment when she spoke it now. “It will never happen.” Because Brynhildr would never seen Valhalla — instead she lusted for a different hall of Asgard, more fitting of her stature — and even if she would have, she suddenly wondered if Odin was even capable of forgiveness and would have seen Ragnar to the hall of Valhalla.

Thistle stared at the girl and a small smile took it's place on her face, but it wasn't a nice one. She could see the judgement clearly on the girls face. She snorted and turned and walked away, turning one last time to look at her. YOu know nothing of your father, and you are a fool to put so much stock into stories instead of asking someone who actually knew him. You're father was savage and feral and wild and he followed his own rules. But he was my husband and I loved him and he loved me and I'm sorry that that bothers you. Have a good day young lady.