The Jungle is the loud antithesis to the movement of the young man.
He passes through the broken, wounded forest with the ease that his upbringing has afforded him. His feet do not falter on vines that race like snakes across the dirt. He is nearly silent, save for the labor of his breath. The humid air is heavy while it lingers in his lungs. It takes effort to draw in a breath one moment and exhale it the next. It takes effort, too, to run through the jungle as he has, despite his ability to navigate its twisting, thorny pathways. They are efforts Vidar is comfortable with, however, because he is a man now.
And it is time he started acting like one.
To his credit, he’d accepted the mantle of his heritage as readily as his own name. Once he has his mind set to a task, the blue roan does not hesitate and does not look back. Even if back was a soft childhood of frolicking with the monkeys and playing hide-and-go-seek with the jaguar spirit. Back was exploring the far reaches of the Amazons with his sister who had come home. Back was the strong but yielding side of his mother – the way she knew what to say, to comfort, to teach, always. Back was a time of growing his heart and nurturing his soul, and he will cherish it always. But now, he must grow his body and mind. Now, he must look forward.
Because the battle had been won, but war is eternal.
Life is a war unto itself. And though the Jungle had burned and flooded (though death is now as prevalent as life – maybe more so – all around them), it was merely a continuation of the unrest Vidar had grown up with. He is used to tension, used to unease twisting around his throat like choking vines. Lagertha had never shielded him from the fact that the Amazons were powerful, and therefore, a powerful target. She might not have allowed him to fight when it came down to it, but he will always be grateful that she had made him aware.
So when the warriors come home, the blue roan is there, waiting for them. Waiting for his mother, mostly. She is like a tired storm cloud thundering into the clearing. Her features are drawn and tired; she looks used and exhausted, but fortunately, he can see no major wounds. He wonders if all the Sisters have been as lucky. Slowly, they filter in. But the ones who come first are the ones who had been here all along, who had stayed behind in order to protect their home, all in vain. The Jungle had burned regardless of their intentions. All they could do was try to survive.
Naga pledges her help to the khaleesi while the others stand in silent support. He imagines it will take years, perhaps decades for the forests to recover without some great, magical intervention. He can’t imagine, however, that Lagertha might not be leading the restoration. If he’d known his dam’s thoughts, he would have sought her out before, counseled her against vacating her throne. She had led the Sisterhood through flame and flood. Despite their potential losses, she had been brave in the face of the Chamber’s gathering dark. He doesn’t imagine that she will leave now, as the recovery begins. So he prepares to leave himself. “Khaleesi,” he says, because Mother would seem too soft. He will seek her out later, of course, say his goodbyes. But it is high time he represented the Amazons elsewhere; it is time for him to fly from the nest. “I am ready to go wherever you need me.”
Vidar
ooc: partially recycled but wanted to get something up!