02-04-2016, 08:52 AM
I am iron and I forge myself
You see, the thing is that Lagertha is looking for a pet project; while her heart secretly trembles at the disappearance of her daughter, she forces herself to remain calm, except to a select few. The calls for war seem to have died down, and that too, irks her to no end. Every other woman she’s recruited has ended up being a failure, despite their insistence that they are looking for a place to fan the flames. Perhaps the problem ultimately comes down to Lagertha and the type of Queen she is - with standards and expectations and an eternal slew of disappointments.
She’s seen this fire before; she’s stared at it with anger and steel resolve, swearing promises to herself in the middle of the night. The Iron Queen wants it - she is both the moth that is attracted to the flame and the oxygen that can feed it. But she still knows the value of patience, she knows when to hold her tongue for a moment instead of barging full steam ahead. Riva has already mentioned that family is the reason for her rage, and while it’s not something she’s completely familiar with, Lagertha knows a thing or two about maternal resentment. She sighs a questioning sigh in the back of her throat at the remark, but otherwise remains in observation mode, choosing to wait until Phaedrus answers. In her mind, she’s already won. There’s no way in hell a woman with such spirit would settle for herd life. She’d suffocate, her fire extinguished by the heavy fog of monotony.
He talks about stability and peace, and Lagertha wonders if they are looking at the same mare; she can hardly keep herself from rolling her eyes as he attempts to touch her. So she quips in an offhand manner, “You forgot boredom, petty herd politics, and a dick.” That is actually what he’s offering, isn’t it? A place among ‘his’ women where they’re constantly fighting for his affection? Sure, she could technically join both, but she’s never known an Amazonian to be happy in herd life. They are far too complex for that. Lagertha snorts with more than a little derision behind it.
“I don’t promise anything except that the Jungle is never dull. We make our own lives.”
Just look at Rhy, and look at Lagertha. Same environment for most of their lives, and still - two very different outlooks on life. There were as many pacifists as there were warmongers in the humid depths. But no one was ever boring.
She’s seen this fire before; she’s stared at it with anger and steel resolve, swearing promises to herself in the middle of the night. The Iron Queen wants it - she is both the moth that is attracted to the flame and the oxygen that can feed it. But she still knows the value of patience, she knows when to hold her tongue for a moment instead of barging full steam ahead. Riva has already mentioned that family is the reason for her rage, and while it’s not something she’s completely familiar with, Lagertha knows a thing or two about maternal resentment. She sighs a questioning sigh in the back of her throat at the remark, but otherwise remains in observation mode, choosing to wait until Phaedrus answers. In her mind, she’s already won. There’s no way in hell a woman with such spirit would settle for herd life. She’d suffocate, her fire extinguished by the heavy fog of monotony.
He talks about stability and peace, and Lagertha wonders if they are looking at the same mare; she can hardly keep herself from rolling her eyes as he attempts to touch her. So she quips in an offhand manner, “You forgot boredom, petty herd politics, and a dick.” That is actually what he’s offering, isn’t it? A place among ‘his’ women where they’re constantly fighting for his affection? Sure, she could technically join both, but she’s never known an Amazonian to be happy in herd life. They are far too complex for that. Lagertha snorts with more than a little derision behind it.
“I don’t promise anything except that the Jungle is never dull. We make our own lives.”
Just look at Rhy, and look at Lagertha. Same environment for most of their lives, and still - two very different outlooks on life. There were as many pacifists as there were warmongers in the humid depths. But no one was ever boring.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons