"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Well, she’s still Khaleesi. Lagertha hadn’t really expected it to go otherwise, but there were sure to be those who are unhappy with the way things turned out, and she wanted to give them a chance to voice their dissent. In the end, the youngest of them still believed she would continue to be a good Queen, and if the future of the Kingdom believed it, that was good enough for Lagertha.
The Sisters and children disperse, some heading towards the border, while others melt back into the untouched darkness, to take care of whatever it is they were doing before she called the meeting. Lagertha doesn’t pry into their lives, and manages to keep some part of hers under wraps as well. A thought catches in the back of her throat - did anyone know who Vidar’s father was? The boy himself had never pressed her on the matter, and she can’t recall ever telling Rhy or Sette. Her steady gaze finds the roan stallion and softens around the edges. This day had always loomed on the horizon; as inevitable as the rise and fall of the sun. Now it is here, and the mother part of her isn’t quite sure how to begin. So she lets the Queen take over. For now.
“Vidar?” she calls out to her son, gesturing with her head towards a path on the other side of the clearing. “Come, let’s walk.” She specifically chose a wider path, big enough for the them to walk side-by-side down to the water’s edge. It was a fair distance… they should have plenty of time. “So,” she begins once they are away from the others, “As your mother, I would tell you to go to your father’s home. As your Queen, though I may not be that for much longer, I might tell you differently. But first I want to hear if you’ve thought about where you would like to go. You are more than my son and an Amazonian ambassador. You have your own life, and I want you to live it.”
There are a few places that would be reluctant to welcome him with open arms; but if his wish was to go there, she would give him her blessing and send him on his way. Lagertha is confident he will be successful.
She does not bend to the wind or soften under the current of the stream. In the face of blood and gore and death, she emerges unbowed and unbroken. War takes so much from so many, and the Jungle is not spared its greedy hands. Vidar had remained within it throughout the battle at his mother’s silent behest; he could do the most good here on home soil. He had looked over the land as it burned, had watched as the animals retreated or were swallowed whole by the flames and destruction. He had helped where he could (had carried both smoky parrots too weak to fly and tiny capuchins frantic without their mothers) but he had wanted to be elsewhere. The blue man yearned to be on the battlefield, proudly displaying the badge of the jungle in the tangles of vine in his black hair.
But he is a good son, or tries to be, anyway.
When Lagertha comes home, he stays away at first. She is his rock, but he is not her’s. Vidar’s always known his place is right below Anguisette’s on the totem of their dam’s love. He neither resents his wandering sister for it nor thinks less of the iron lady who raised him for it – it is simply a fact he’s always accepted. But his sibling is lost to them. Lagertha has no choice, no one to turn to in the shadows away from her people.
He is all she has left, and it is time he left himself.
At the meeting, his eyes are inevitably drawn to her. The grown prince wonders if her shoulders will sag even more once he’s gone. He wonders, too, who she will talk to when times get tough. With Rhy and Sette gone, who will shoulder the burden with the khaleesi? Who will tell her chin up, be tough, look forward when he’s found a new home to defend? He feels as drained as the receding waters of Prague’s flood when he thinks too long on the matter. The jungle will always be the place of his birth. Lagertha will always be the mother he thinks of fondly and returns to from time to time. But it will never be the same again.
All too quickly, the meeting draws to a close. Vidar swallows the growing lump in his throat when she calls for him before it can choke him. It wouldn’t do to have a wordless last venture with his mother. They meet at the head of the trail she suggests, and he manages a weak smile when his eyes meet her’s. He sees up close how tired she looks, how aged. And even though immortality keeps her bones strong and her body primed, it is clear that the war has overwritten some of the magic. Not that it matters; the Sisterhood has retained its leader, as Vidar was confidant they would. The iron lady’s reign is far from ending with the Chamber’s war.
They walk side by side down the root-jutted path still littered with evidence of destruction. Bright green shoots off-set the otherwise grim reminders of the waste laid to the Amazons, a promise that there is life stirring in the midst of so much death. The blue roan thrills at the sight because soon the capuchins and macaws and taipers will come back too, as abundant and vibrant as they were before. It will not be bleak forever; he hopes Lagertha will recover much the same. She talks, then, once they are far enough away from the women. Right away, she mentions his sire and he is caught off-guard. “My father?” His brow furrows. She’s never mentioned the man (possibly because he’s never asked) and it stirs previously undisturbed waters within Vidar. He grew up with everything he needed – why would he miss something that was never there to begin with? But losing Sette had been hard on all of them, had pulled at a part of his heart that had never known loss. Hearing about his father feels much the same.
He shifts his gaze away from his dam to look for answers in the darkness of the forest. “I want to help the Jungle, Mother.” It is easy enough to say, but there is a deepness to his words that she may not realize. “I can’t stay here, but I am an ambassador as much as I am your son.” The beginnings of a smile flickers on his face when he looks back to Lagertha. They both know it to be true. He is stubborn and unwieldy. His body has filled out from his extensive, self-disciplined training. There is no room for him in the army of the Sisters, but there is a place for him in some army. “I’d like to hear about my father, he says, deciding in his mind. “But my mind is mostly made up. What do you know of the Deserts, other than the fact that it is suitably hot?” The young man can’t imagine living anywhere without a blazing sun warming its members to the breaking point. But her opinion on the matter is more important than anything else.
The only stallion she’s only taken a liking to; it certainly wasn’t love, and they both knew that. They were content with the way things were, never seeking more than what the other was willing to give, which was mutual respect and admiration. He was not a rock, and she was not an island. They did not come crashing together with fire in their blood or salt in old wounds. It was easy with the Tundra man. They didn’t need to fix each other, and they saw past their titles and family ghosts. Lagertha had no definition for their relationship, and does not seek to find one. Not everything in life needs to be resolved, and when she looks upon the roan coloring of Vidar’s coat, she remembers him. Her only regret is that he never lived to see his son (her son) and be proud of what he has become.
His father, or lack thereof, has never been something to bemoan. Families are not always made of blood and bone, and she knows that first hand. What Lagertha does hope is that her love for Sette has never left him feeling unwanted; there was so much in flux when he was a child that kept her away until dark and awake at first light. Her relationships with all her children are vastly different. She is not infallible; her mistakes with the first was as much a learning process are her training exercises. And how can she give her sons her whole heart, when she cannot keep them close like she can her daughters? It’s not that she is an uncaring mother, she simply raises them to be productive members of a kingdom, and she thinks Vidar understands that and forgives her for it. It is in the way he thinks of duty to the Jungle, in the way he called her Khaleesi first. It is in the way he says nothing of her outward signs of weariness, though his eyes brim with concern.
In some fashion, he is Sette’s male counterpart, and in others he never will be; but they are both her children regardless of whether she’s carried both in her womb. They are her offering to the world. Lagertha listens to Vidar, grinning slowly when he does. She’s always known he wouldn’t be like Dalten, but it is comforting to have some sort of confirmation. “Even if you didn’t want to, I would tell you, because you should know about your family. Mine too. So make yourself comfortable.” She chuckles, and adds before beginning the story, “The Desert is a good choice. I know both Vanquish and Yael, though I know him better than her. They are competent rulers, but their Kingdom is quiet. I think they are happy to have it that way. Yael is kind and motherly and a magician, so you can’t hide anything from her. Vanquish has a temper and is protective of his family, but you will find it easy to like him. He is very much like me.”
They continue to walk towards the river, and Lagertha allows another moment of silence to pass before she looks over at Vidar again. “Your father’s name was Crito. He died soon after you were born. We weren’t in love, but I did very much consider him my friend. He was a Tundra stallion, and if there are still there who remember the Kings that I knew, they would welcome you as his son. Now, I am not so sure. And besides, I wouldn’t want to waste you on that frozen wasteland or a King like Offspring.” She makes face at his name, showing exactly what she thinks of the current monarch. Hurricane, despite the fact that the Tundra never showed up for support, was far more agreeable. Oh well. “And if you come across any of Scorch’s children, they are your cousins. She was the Khaleesi before me, and my co-Bloodrider under Brunhild. Anyway, she had a small army of children, so you’re bound to come across one sooner or later. Vi - do you remember Vi? - is one of hers, actually. But she’s gone off in search of Sette.”
His sister’s name brings about another silence, becoming the elephant in the room until she speaks again. “As for my family, my mother was one of the first Amazonian Queens, a very long time ago. My siblings are long dead and gone, but they were rulers, and so were many of their descendants. And trust me, there are thousands of them. It’s all ancient history now, but you should know these things.” Because her legacy made Lagertha what she is today, and because there is power in knowledge.
