11-09-2015, 11:53 AM
It would be easy to call Lagertha cold and unfeeling, to go so far as to say that she is happy Scorch is dead, leaving way to the throne practically free of contenders. It would be easy to say that the Warrior Queen could care less about Scorch’s descendants (as many new rulers might be - who cares, when it is not their offspring?). They are at best, half-truths, when she is seen by those who do not know her. Or when she has to deliver the news - for a third time - to Scorch’s numerous relatives. It gets tiresome, as yes, she and most of the Sisters have moved on. Time does that; time and responsibility and other worries. She lets the silence sit easily between them, as she averts her gaze to give him some privacy whilst in public. Her thoughts drift to the Tundra, and she is momentarily regretful that she could not offer them anything. But it is for the good of the Sisterhood to break their ties with the Brotherhood.
Like everything, power is cyclical. The Tundra’s time is waning. The Jungle’s time is waxing. Every now and then she looks back at they graying stallion, and when they lock eyes, he seems ready to continue their conversation and Lagertha gives him her full attention again.
She won’t debate his statement, in light of the circumstances. It isn’t true, but she’ll bite her tongue out of respect for Crito. Honestly, she’d like to see the hairless rat make connections and navigate these muddy waters like she is. It takes a far cooler head to deal with the other monarchs, who seem to be of a similar logical vein and respect that quality. But she cannot hold back everything, rolling her eyes and hmph-ing in the back of her throat. “Of course I am still ambitious. I may not have a horde of children to put on thrones, but I will have the Amazons back on top."
A teasing grim wraps it way back across her face. “And what about you, old man? If you’re looking for a warmer place to retire, our doors are always open.” They are because she says they are. And she’s sure he knows she wouldn’t say that to just anyone. There are two - maybe three - that deserve such an invitation.
Like everything, power is cyclical. The Tundra’s time is waning. The Jungle’s time is waxing. Every now and then she looks back at they graying stallion, and when they lock eyes, he seems ready to continue their conversation and Lagertha gives him her full attention again.
She won’t debate his statement, in light of the circumstances. It isn’t true, but she’ll bite her tongue out of respect for Crito. Honestly, she’d like to see the hairless rat make connections and navigate these muddy waters like she is. It takes a far cooler head to deal with the other monarchs, who seem to be of a similar logical vein and respect that quality. But she cannot hold back everything, rolling her eyes and hmph-ing in the back of her throat. “Of course I am still ambitious. I may not have a horde of children to put on thrones, but I will have the Amazons back on top."
A teasing grim wraps it way back across her face. “And what about you, old man? If you’re looking for a warmer place to retire, our doors are always open.” They are because she says they are. And she’s sure he knows she wouldn’t say that to just anyone. There are two - maybe three - that deserve such an invitation.